


The Color of Summer

by spideywhiteys



Series: and we change like seasons [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, CHAKRA CHAINS CHAKRA CHAINS, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Growth, Child Neglect, Depression, Exploring Sexuality, Extremely Slow Burn, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Murder, Near Death Experiences, OC has a few sort of relationships before we hit endgame so if u aren't about that drama then oops, Politics, Poor coping habits, Psychological Torture, SI-OC, Self-Discovery, Self-Insert, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, Team as Family, Torture, Unrequited Love, Uzumaki Clan, Uzumaki Twins, a lot of characters kind of get shit on but it's mostly natsume being as ass, actual child abuse, except some of them deserve to get yelled at honestly, fuuinjutsu as told by ME, hopefully zuko worthy redemption arc, konoha is BIG SUCK, lots of hurt less comfort, many ocs and im not sorry, realistic depiction of ninja life, relationships are already planned but will be added as they happen for suspeNSE, there will be sexy times, things get far worse before they get better, this is the dark gritty side of shinobi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24587365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideywhiteys/pseuds/spideywhiteys
Summary: There's a quote that comes to mind: “Treat a man as he is, and he will remain as he is. Treat a man as he could be, and he will become what he should be.” If they'd been smart, the citizens of Konoha would have realized this. If you call a boy a monster, then a monster he shall be. Natsume has a head full of a past life's knowledge and the sinking realization that in this world, no one will step up to protect him and Naruto. So he learns to do it himself, even if it means staining his hands so Naruto can keep his clean.
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru & Original Character(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Uchiha Shisui & Original Character(s), Uzumaki Naruto & Original Character(s)
Series: and we change like seasons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777264
Comments: 534
Kudos: 2218
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts, Faves of mine, Gifts from Literature Deities, Not to be misplaced, SelfInserts OCs Reincarnation and Time Travel, naruto favs, stuff i really really like





	1. blood red

**Author's Note:**

> IM SUPER EXCITED TO SHARE THIS!!!! I've had this OC for over five years, probably more like six or seven, and i'm FINALLY putting him out into the world! ;A; this fic is going to delve into some of the darker parts of konoha and shinobi life, and there's going to be quite a bit of conflict, both emotionally and physically. as stated in the tags, relationships will be wonky for a bit before the endgame ship sails, but i feel like to really get the full experience it's better to read without knowing. if you're not a fan of characters experiencing/dealing with other relationships before the Final Love, i get it. sometimes im in the mood, sometimes im not. it's why i'm giving this warning now that it WILL happen. also some pretty serious topics will be discussed, like child abuse, murder, sexual assault and torture. nsfw tones are pretty heavy. i'll tag what i can, but im telling you now. i do think it ruins the reading experience a little when you know what's going to happen in the chapter because of warning notes. STILL! i'll do it because i want readers to feel safe, but if you're going to read a fic like this,,,,, well. good luck?

**HE DOESN’T COME** into awareness immediately. At first he thinks he’s dreaming, or in a coma and getting glimpses of reality. What he manages to perceive is blurry, distorted and — initially — painful. The earliest,  _ earliest _ thing he can recall is the color red. Sheer and screaming. What follows is numbness and the heavy feeling of detachment that generally accompanies barely-lucid dreaming. 

Then one day that’s no longer the case.

He surfaces from the fog without warning, as though woken from a deep slumber by ice water being thrown over his head. He coughs, splutters, hiccups — and his eyes focus on a white, aged ceiling with a single, spindly crack in the plaster. To his left are carefully sanded wooden bars and to his right is another baby, sound asleep, with whisker marks on their cheeks and a head of hair so blonde it looks like it came out of a bottle. 

_ Well, this is happening. _ Upon attempting to move he discovers that not only has he lost almost all motor function, but he can’t speak beyond gurgles that sound suspiciously adorable. He is completely, totally,  _ absolutely  _ — a baby. 

Now, he knows absolutely nothing about babies. What he does know is that he shouldn’t have all this  _ knowledge  _ in his head, even if most of it is basic. There’s just a yawning, gaping  _ nothingness. _ It’s as if he’s poofed into existence — except he gets the feeling he was alive before this. He hadn’t died a child, but he  _ had  _ died.  _ How  _ he’d died remains a mystery, as did his previous name, family and friends. It was as though he’d gone through the reincarnation process half-way. Maybe the big man’s (or woman’s!) memory-wiping machine had gotten jammed. Either way, here he is. A baby in everything but mind.

And it’s impossibly boring. All there is to do is sleep, eat, shit and cry. It’s a routine he becomes intimately familiar with in a  _ very _ short amount of time, especially since he has a front row seat to the other baby. Who he’s quite certain is just a regular ol’ baby, not a botched reincarnation or whatever like he is. 

Another thing he notices, which is incredibly alarming, is that they don’t seem to have parents. Or a consistent guardian. And too many people wear masks. Actual, full-on ceramic masks painted to look like various animals in a style that seems classically japanese. They always change, like they’re on rotating shifts, but he sees a Boar, Cat, some kind of Bird, and a Dog. The Dog doesn’t come very often, and he never touches them, only looms in the corner of their room like a ghost, or a cloud of depression in human form. Dog-Mask also looks young, like,  _ middle school _ young. It’s all very concerning, and all very  _ alien _ . The masked caretakers aside, it’s the sheer lack of care he and his (should he assume) brother are getting that really throws him off. When he thinks of infant care, this isn’t what comes to mind. 

The language, however, is actually familiar. Sadly,  _ familiar  _ doesn’t mean he’s fluent by any means. To his infantile ears it sounds Japanese, and from there he can make out a few words and sentences, but that’s about it. And it’s not like their stoic, mask-wearing babysitters actually speak often enough for him to even begin to try and learn the language. They almost go out of their way not to say a damn thing, relying on hand movements that are at times too quick for his eyes to fully comprehend.

_ So. Not great. _ The whole thing’s kind of scary, even. Finding himself in a place he doesn’t recognize or understand as an all-too-vulnerable baby means he’s at a severe disadvantage. Everything is monotonous, dull and boring. The days drag, his brother cries, they remain mostly ignored — there’s no way a baby can grow fully functional with limited care such as this. At first he waits, wondering if perhaps their parents are away, in the hospital, or unable to see them yet. But then days turn into weeks and he realizes with harsh, blinding clarity that no one is coming. They remain ignored and uncared for, aside from the bare minimum requirements. It also becomes clear that the masked babysitters barely know what they’re doing, most likely they were  _ guards  _ of some kind. Trained for combat, not infant care. 

_ Which is, you know. Great again. _ He thinks, scathingly. 

Being ignored for so long with only the blond-haired baby for company, who has eyes the prettiest shade of blue he’s ever seen, means that he’s getting... _ attached _ . Quickly. The whiskered baby is his only source of entertainment and company, and probably the only reason he isn’t going absolutely crazy in their unfortunate solitude. Which is why, within the span of what must only be weeks, he’s decided that this is  _ his  _ baby. His to raise and protect, since no one else will and no one seems to care. He has the mental awareness for it, body be damned, and he can learn along the way — but there’s no way he’s letting some poor kid suffer in the hands of dumbass adults.

( Even if half the masked babysitters don’t look tall enough to be considered such -- but who was he to judge age with height? )

* * *

He doesn’t think about it too often, but there remains the ever-present fact that he knows neither his or his brother’s names.  _ Me, myself and I _ have worked well enough in regards to himself, but the other baby has been  _ Blondie  _ or, even simpler,  _ Baby _ . Blondie cries quite a bit though, always whining for attention or food or because he messed up his diaper. 

The Masks seem a little more hesitant around him (not-Blondie) because he doesn’t cry. Baby in body does not mean baby in mind, and he’ll be damned if he’ll go around howling all hours of the day until his face is coated in snot. The Masks don’t exactly care enough to wipe their faces well. Their experience with children is clearly limited, their hands always awkward and too gentle. 

Days and weeks and months probably pass, though it’s hard to keep track of it all. This must be some form of torture. Deprivation of time, touch, stimulus… it’s enough that he feels almost insane. He plots things. How he’ll get strong enough to run with Blondie and never look back. Sometimes he stares at whichever masked figure is on guard duty and wonders what it would be like to hurt them. It’s a chilling experience, because he doesn’t think the desire for violence is a trait he had before. If Blondie isn’t quietly gurgling, he’s screaming, and with those sounds being his only source of verbal stimulation, it’s no wonder he’s feeling a little cuckoo. 

The reprieve comes when he’s vaguely mobile and rolling around. Sitting up is easy and he can bash his little baby fists against the bars while sneering at the masked men. They don’t respond the way he wants — which is to cower in terror, obviously — but there’s nothing else to do since his baby has fallen asleep. 

That’s when a new person comes. 

An old man with a tired, wrinkled face and long white robes. He looks important, and vaguely familiar. He can’t tell if the guy has stopped by, since a lot of his earliest memories are blurry or non-existent. Pursing his clumsy lips, he twists his face into a suspicious look — which definitely doesn’t look it, he can just  _ tell. _ The old man doesn’t look scared or worried, he smiles at them with a weary sort of softness, and his hands are gentle when they pick him up. Something in japanese is said, the man’s deep voice rumbling through his chest and vibrating under his little baby palms. 

The only thing he makes out is  _ Natsume-chan. _ Which he’s quite certain is a name. His, if he had to guess, since the old guy is looking right at him.

It’s a bit of a relief, actually.

Natsume rolls the name around in his head. That’s fine, he can work with that. 

“Ba!” He exclaims vehemently, waving his arms gracelessly. Being a baby really  _ does _ suck. The old man carries him carefully, moving to peer out of the single window in this whole damn room. He’s speaking again, but Natsume can’t understand what he’s saying at all. Annoying, but it’s not like the guy is expecting Natsume to know in the first place. 

The world outside the window is awash with sunlight and color fills his vision. Buildings of all shapes and size rise and mesh together like carefully placed dominos. In the far distance he sees patches of greenery that must indicate a forest. To the left, rising high in the sky, is a colossal mountain with four faces carved into it. 

Old Man’s eyes are on them, but Natsume can’t really tell which one he’s staring at. Actually, now that he thinks about it, the old guy kind of looks like the third face, if not more weathered and aged. Huh. Old Man smiles down at him, soft and a little bit painful.

Natsume feels like he’s missing something important.

* * *

The orphanage is a shithole. Natsume does not say this lightly. He’s completely serious. The complete lack of childcare, management and order is disgusting. Being outside the four walls of that white, too-white room is a relief, but really? 

Blondie’s name is Naruto, which he learned shortly after his own. It’s pretty cute. Their names carry the same amount of syllables and both start with  _ Na. _ The fact that he knows a language that is distinctly  _ not _ Japanese is throwing him off a little, because he’s already worrying about exactly how their grammar rules change things. The odd collection of random information in his head very helpfully tells him that Japanese has kanji, hiragana and katakana. He doesn’t know the difference between the three just yet — but he’s pretty sure kanji is supposed to be the more complex alphabet. 

Either way,  _ Naruto and Natsume. _ It feels good to have a name. They’re pretty nice ones too, all things considered. What  _ isn’t  _ great is their current living situation. Don’t get him wrong, the orphanage is leagues better than that room, but the matrons are so….weird.

There are two women, both with brown hair and dark eyes. He can’t tell if they’re related, because their faces aren’t very similar and one is tan where the other is pale. Both of them are jerks. They aren’t malicious or anything, just neglectful and wary. It’s like they’re  _ scared  _ of him and Naruto. Who gets scared of a baby? 

Him and Naruto are allowed to lay in a room with a bunch of other babies, but their blanket is clearly set apart from the rest. Naruto wiggles and belly crawls weakly, fascinated by the loud laughing and squealing of the other children. Natsume does his best to distract his brother, but there isn’t much he can do in his baby body, even if he is practically crawling by now.

They must be nearing a year old, right? Or maybe younger...Natsume’s knowledge didn’t have much on babies or how to tell the difference in age...or milestones. He should probably observe Naruto for that, but Natsume has no desire to slow his development. He needs to pull himself together as quickly as possible so he can care for his little brother. 

So two weeks later he’s pushing himself up against the wall on wobbly knees. Frankly, baby legs are like very limp noodles. Trying to walk is exhausting.  _ Exhausting. _ All that mostly-unused muscle is suddenly forced to carry the strain of his full weight. Which — he doesn’t really weigh that much, being a baby. 

“Ba! Ba!” Naruto gurgles, rolling over and waving his fists. His crystal blue eyes are wide as he kicks his legs and gives Natsume a gummy baby smile. It’s so adorably fluff-inducing that if Natsume had any teeth they would have rotted immediately. 

He takes it as an attempt at cheering him on and pushes himself further. 

His butt smarts from meeting the hardwood one too many times, but the force of it is more startling than painful. Natsume refuses to cry over something so miniscule. He keeps standing and falling, over and over.

Over and over.

* * *

Natsume is walking while his little brother still crawls around awkwardly. The movements are clumsy and slow, but at least he has his feet under him. One foot in front of the other. Finding his balance is a lot harder than it sounds, but he gets it.

The only good thing about the orphanage is the fact that they don’t starve — and that being surrounded by so many loud, talkative people means that learning the language gets easier. Natsume desperately wants to read. Toys don’t hold his attention and, as much as he loves Naruto, he can’t stare at his brother for hours as a source of entertainment. It’s not a pastime that Natsume wants to return to. Unfortunately, books are out of his reach right now. He’s still struggling to understand the spoken word, never mind the complexities of the written. 

The dark-eyed lady with tan skin feeds them, her eyes hawkish yet fearful. Like she’s anticipating something terrible. Her hands shake. Natsume has no idea what’s running through her head. He doesn’t know  _ why _ he and his brother are so obviously held to a separate standard. 

Feared.

It pisses him off. That anger grows as each week passes because  _ how could this be right? _ How could any self respecting adult see these neglectful actions as okay? Contempt and anger is easier to foster — easier to hold close to his chest, so he can ignore the looming, poisonous loneliness. In truth, all this rage is really just a culmination of a lot of stressors. Someone hit his factory reset button and now there’s no one willing to provide support.

Naruto babbles beside him on a pale blue blanket, a few other young children on the other side of the room. Young kids are loud and annoying — or maybe Natsume is just angry at everything. He actually thinks he likes children, or just the thought of a family. It’s a pipe dream obviously, he and Naruto are clearly orphans and with the way everyone looks at them? No chance of adoption in  _ their  _ future. While he’s practicing moving from sitting to standing he thinks about possible reasons for all the avoidance and fear. Anger at the fact that it’s even  _ happening _ has been at the forefront of his mind the whole time, so he hasn’t really considered anything else. 

Of course, the idea that two babies are something to be feared just doesn’t click  _ at all _ in his head. Babies are literally the most defenseless creatures out there —  _ human  _ babies even more so than others. They had to be the one species that didn’t have an inborn survival sense straight out of the womb. Sometimes it  _ never _ came in, either. Far too many idiots around for that to not be the case. 

He takes another wobbly step, chubby features screwed up in concentration. The blanket is soft under his feet, but the cool temperature of the floor below it seeps through. He hasn’t really seen outside since the time they were moved to the orphanage, so his sense of time is pretty screwed up. Is it fall? Winter? Based on the faint sunlight trickling in and the sound of bird calls, it’s probably… anything but winter. Which doesn’t help much at all.

The kids that are a little older know a few words or broken sentences, and the matrons speak to them slowly and softly — they’re doing it right now, while doing their best to ignore Naruto and Natsume in their little corner. 

_ Fuck you, too. _

He glances at his brother, who’s managed to roll over on his back. The little blond has his own feet in his tiny hands and is sucking on his own toe. It doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. Natsume takes the chance to very carefully  _ walk. _ One step after the other. He doesn’t plan on going all the way over to the group — he’s not stupid, thanks. But making it to the halfway point is fine. That way he can hear the childish lessons the matrons are trying to instil in the other kids. 

They have little books, ones with pictures and what looks like basic kanji. The tan matron visibly startles when her gaze lands on him, but he just stares back at her. It’s somehow amusing and irritating when she begins to look vaguely nervous, her voice wavering. 

He’s literally just standing here.

“Ao.” She says, pointing to the square of blue in the picture book. Natsume mouths the word.  _ Ao. _ Blue. Colors and shapes make up the first book, all basic. Natsume already feels a looming sense of dread at the idea of learning an entirely new language. Couldn’t he have skipped this part and ‘awoken’  _ after _ the language learning process? 

His legs start to ache from standing. Carefully, since his balance is still all out of sorts, he does the baby-move of leaning forward to press his palms to the floor, then folding his legs until he’s sitting. He still hasn’t mastered the art of sitting directly from a standing position. As it is, he can barely walk in a straight line. He’ll take his victories where he can get them.

“Gah!” A yell behind him pulls his attention away from the sort-of-lesson. Natsume looks back to see Naruto halfway to him, his pudgy palms slapping against the hardwood and an expression of intense concentration on his chubby face.  _ Ah, that’s adorable. _

Smiling gummily at the sight, Natsume twists and crawls back over to his brother. Naruto looks at him with wide, happy eyes, his little hands tangling in Natsume’s dark blue onesie when he gets close. Natsume very, very carefully pats his little brother’s head with his clumsy hands. At least  _ one _ person doesn’t fear him. 

And Natsume will  _ never _ fear Naruto, either. Never.

* * *

Learning a language kind of sucks. Natsume already established that early on, but midway through the process he still feels the exact same about the situation. One the other hand, it’s something to  _ do. _ Exploration is limited and he can’t read or interact with anyone aside from Naruto, so stolen lessons and running his limited knowledge of the language through his head until it’s memorized is all he can do for stimulation. Japanese is a beautiful language. He might be annoyed at the situation, but there’s no denying  _ that. _

His first word is, of course,  _ Naruto. _ In return, Naruto’s first word is  _ Natsume. _ His little brother doesn’t have the extra mental help that Natsume does, so he’s quite a ways behind in...everything. Still, by the time a few more months have passed, he’s walking and babbling a few words. Natsume is already close to running, and his words are more like half-finished sentences. It’s almost a matter of pride for him — he doesn’t talk a lot to anyone but Naruto, and he likely won’t until he has the language under control a little more. 

_ But maybe not even then, _ he thinks to himself,  _ It’s not like anyone else is worth talking to. _

“Natsu-me.” His name is split into two kanji. Both of which are far more complex than his brother’s. Every child around their age — and there are six, not including him and Naruto — is sitting with paper in front of them and markers in hand. Most of the kids aren’t paying attention. The matrons have drawn out kanji for all of them to trace. There’s a few basic ones for basic words, like colors and shapes, then there’s their names. Even if the matrons continue to seem relatively fearful of him and his brother, at least they aren’t attempting to  _ completely _ leave them out of the lessons. 

But back to the names. Naruto is written with three characters, ナルト. Each one corresponded with a syllable. Na. Ru. To. He isn’t sure if there’s even a special meaning for it. Natsume, on the other hand, has a name with two kanji he can not, for the life of him, get his clumsy baby hand to trace correctly. They aren’t even  _ too _ hard, in a broad sense. But far different from the  _ literal lines _ that make up  _ Naruto. _ For Natsume? 夏明,  _ Natsu _ and  _ Me. _ Scrubbing the english language rules from his head took a second — because his name sounds a lot like  _ Not-sue-may, _ being made up of three syllables, and Japanese clearly doesn’t care for the concept of one character per letter. Or syllable. There are single kanji characters that mean whole words! For  _ what reason _ did there need to be so many? There must be hundreds or thousands of kanji, with half of them meaning the same thing as something else or just being a less complex form of the same damn word. Naruto has it  _ easy. _

( _ And _ Japanese is written and read top to bottom, right to left.  _ Completely opposite from what his brain instinctively wants to do.) _

It’s also during these lessons that Natsume realizes that the four characters just before  _ Naruto _ and  _ Natsume _ are the same. U. Zu. Ma. Ki. Embarrassingly, it takes until about the third session for him to realize that that’s their last name. Truthfully, he hadn’t given much thought to them even having one — hadn’t seemed very important in the grand scheme of things. 

うずまき夏明. Uzumaki Natsume. He traces the kanji with a finger, the characters sloppily outlined with his blue marker strokes. It’s also the same lesson that he learns something even  _ worse. _

_ Kanji can have several different pronunciations and meanings for the same character. _ That first one, 夏, is pretty widely known as  _ natsu, _ and means  _ summer. _ The second? 明 has several different pronunciations and meanings, and it’s even the lone character for a few names. A person can read his name as  _ Natsuaki.  _ That second character means  _ bright, _ so in a way,  _ aki _ isn’t wrong. Except  _ aki _ is also how you pronounce  _ fall,  _ as in  _ autumn. _ Even though the kanji is different. 

It drives Natsume absolutely crazy.

It’s also  _ perfect  _ for him to focus all his mental energy on.

Naruto isn’t really grasping the lessons just yet, instead scribbling all over the pages. He sticks the end of his purple marker into his mouth and chews on it. Natsume keeps having to tug it out of his brother’s mouth. Unfortunately, they’re at the teething stage. Have been for a little while now, actually. Absolutely nothing is safe from his little brother’s sore gums, Natsume included. Naruto has used Natsume’s little hands or parts of his arm to gnaw on while whining in discomfort. 

After a few days of their combined baby complaints — Naruto’s far louder than Natsume’s, because he’s not much of a crier — the matrons gave them little teething toys. Some are in the oddest shapes. A knife? Or maybe-knife. He can’t really tell if it is, because it looks more like some kind of old age ninja weapon from a cartoon. Maybe it’s a Japanese thing? Not that Natsume really has any solid memory of…literally anything. He knows that Japanese is a language. That there’s a country of people who speak it. He knows nothing of what they look like or make or where they live. Almost all his knowledge is just…  _ this is how you do math. This is how you tie shoes. Smacking two rocks together makes sparks. _ People and places? Zip.

So he’s taking everything in as he goes.

It’s fine.

Even if, for whatever reason, the sight of a child with light green hair seems inherently odd. He’s not sure why, because no one else seems to have a problem with it. It’s just a  _ feeling. _ The kid is maybe a year older and the hair looks natural, so all Natsume can do is accept it and move on. Eyes and hair can be any color on the spectrum, apparently. Noted.

Naruto throws his marker in childish aggravation and yells out his favorite word. “No!” He then grabs his well-loved teething toy, one of the rubber knife things, and sticks it in his mouth. Natsume gives him a mildly unimpressed look, but can’t really blame his little brother. Who’s an actual baby. Toddler? Baby. Eh, somewhere in the middle.

“Don’t make mess.” He says to his barely listening brother. Natsume doesn’t dare get up to grab the thrown marker because babies are  _ remarkably  _ like dogs. Or would it be the reverse? Bring them whatever they toss, and they’ll toss it again like it’s some game you’ve unwillingly started. He’s much more invested in trying to figure out how to speak and read. Dear gods above does he want to get his hands on a book. It doesn’t even matter what it’s about at this point! 

He traces the rest of the remaining characters. It’s still sloppy, but at least he’s seeing a slight improvement from when they started this a few weeks ago. Natsume isn’t really sure if kids are supposed to start all this stuff so early — as clearly almost none of these maybe-two-year-olds are very interested in what’s happening, Natsume aside. Either way, he’s grateful for it. He smacks his palm on the table to draw the matron’s attention. It’s the pale one. She glances at him with dark eyes, her mouth set in a slight frown.

“I finished.” He articulates slowly. “Gimme ‘nother.”

She very carefully places a new sheet on his low desk — and they really are low, there aren’t any chairs so all the kids sit on these flat, square pillows. The desks look more like stools, actually. She takes care not to touch his hands when she does so, instead awkwardly scooting it across the surface. There’s no attempt to take the one that’s already filled out. He likes to keep them on the floor under his and Naruto’s crib so he can look over them in his free time. Helps with memorizing. 

The first time she’d tried to take it, he’d glared at her. Apparently that was enough to make her flinch away, even though he’s quite sure a baby glaring is in no way intimidating. Maybe she finds his awareness and clarity alarming? Oh well. That’s her problem. 

The new sheet still has his name on it, but there’s a new set of characters. He has a feeling he’s blowing through whatever carefully paced course they’ve set up for kids. 

“Konoha.” He sounds out as he outlines the characters. That’s the village they live in. “Hi.”  _ Fire. _ “Hokage.”  _ Fire shadow, _ technically, but also the title their leader carries. Natsume knows the absolute bare bones of how this ‘village hidden in the leaves’ works. Being small, determined and able to walk means he can sneak around and listen in on the older kids’ lessons while Naruto is safely napping in their crib. He tries not to do it too often or for too long. Leaving his brother alone in a place like this fills him with terrible anxiety. Like — what if Naruto tries crawling out of the crib (which is what Natsume does) and ends up falling and cracking his head open? Or what if someone kidnaps him? 

“Aka. Ao. Midori.” Red, blue, green. These characters are more familiar. 

Natsume steadies his hand as best he can and continues.

* * *

When they’re finally able to spill out into the yard, Naruto and Natsume can both run. Naruto is still far clumsier, more prone to tripping or wobbling, but at least he can keep up. They’re dressed in worn, clearly secondhand clothes; thick jackets and red, moth bitten scarves. Naruto had attached himself to a burnt orange jacket with yellow sleeves, and Natsume settled for the dark purple and blue one. 

The air is crisp and cool, leaves scattered across the ground in varying shades of brown and red. The yard is barren aside from children's toys, the patches of grass among the packed dirt are yellow with death. A forest lines the back, and while there’s no fence to keep them out, the children are told they aren’t allowed in. The matrons spin tales of a monster that will steal away and eat any foolish child who wanders in. It keeps most of the kids away, and whoever gets too close is quickly stopped by the watchful adults.

The same watchful adults who turn away their gazes when Naruto is shoved to the ground by a child who looks to be at least five years old. As far as Natsume can tell, he and his twin likely aren’t even three yet. Which begs the question of why an older kid even bothers bullying a kid who clearly can’t understand what’s happening. 

Except Natsume  _ does _ understand what’s happening. His little brother is being bullied.  _ At the age of maybe-two. _ They’re clearly setting their sights on  _ him _ next, but Natsume is consumed with rage at the sheer audacity of these brats — and at the audacity of those shitty adults who refuse to acknowledge what’s happening.

He puts whatever weak, feeble energy he possesses into his tiny fist and punches the older boy in the dick. The kid lets out a squeak and immediately starts crying.

“Try it again.” Natsume goads.

“You’re crazy!” The boy’s friend, a six year old with dark purple hair, exclaims with childish anger. 

Natsume is still young and weak, his reflexes poor and slow. When the kid shoves him in retaliation as his stupid little friend cries in the dirt, Natsume goes flying. Naruto doesn’t like that very much, his high pitched yell likely heard three blocks over. 

The blond tackles into the purple haired kid, though too small and weak to really do anything. Natsume sits up, feeling winded and achy. Pain hadn’t really been a factor in his life so far. While it didn’t  _ really _ hurt, his knee is skinned and his little baby body does  _ not _ like that. 

“Okay, break it up!” The tanned matron comes over, moving to console the two older boys.

Naruto totters to his side. “Nacchan? You ‘kay?”

Natsume looks up at his brother, “I’m fine.” He lies, and listens to the matron soothe the other boys, not once reprimanding them for their actions. 

She ignores the twins entirely.

* * *

Natsume has never actually seen his reflection. The matrons bathed them, always very quick and efficient about it, clearly not caring to handle them more than necessary. When they reach maybe-three, Natsume decides to take up that responsibility on his own. He marches himself and Naruto to the bathroom and bathes the both of them, washing his brother’s hair and scrubbing his little body with a ratty washcloth. The matrons don’t do anything to stop it, seemingly  _ grateful _ that they don’t have to deal with that anymore. 

It’s during one of their bathing sessions — and the bathrooms are pretty big and communal, with multiple showerheads in the wall and little stools to be sat on. There’s a little room that you have to walk through before you reach the shower area and it’s where you leave your clothes in a little cubby, and grab fresh towels. It’s like.. A locker room, almost. Because it’s also where bathroom stalls and sinks are. Then you hop into the next room for the showers. Their baby teeth are almost entirely grown in, and they have cheap toothbrushes to use. Natsume has to brush his brother’s teeth for him, and Naruto hates every second of it. They’re both short, being toddlers, so they can’t really see themselves in the sink mirrors.

Natsume has just finished brushing his brother’s teeth and he’s...curious. He’s practically memorized Naruto’s features by now, but doesn’t even know his own. Glancing at Naruto, who is scowling and scrubbing his wild blond hair with a towel, Natsume takes his brother’s momentary distraction to pull himself up onto the sink counter. 

The very first thing that runs through his head is  _ Red. _

See, being twins, there was always the possibility that they were identical. Now? It’s pretty obvious they’re fraternal. His hair is red. Like fresh blood — the movie kind, because everyone knew actual blood was dark until you smeared it — or strawberries. Tomatoes. Bell peppers. Ugh, enough of the food comparisons. Bright, carmine red and  _ somewhat  _ spiked. It looks looser than Naruto’s very obvious spikes, which are oddly soft despite their pointy appearance. Natsume’s hair sits somewhere between straight and gravity-defying, while Naruto is very firmly in gravity-defying territory. That could also just be because their hair is kept relatively short, cropped to hang around ear-length. At least in  _ his  _ case, it looks like if he grew his hair out it would be tamer. 

His eyes are exactly like Naruto’s in color, the same beautiful, crystalline sky blue. Despite the fact that they are children, and therefore their eyes are very cutely too big for their faces, it’s also obvious that their eye shapes are different. Naruto’s looked wider, more circular. Natsume’s are slightly narrower, more pointed at the ends. His eyelashes are significantly longer, too. Or maybe Naruto’s are just harder to see, being blond. Natsume’s are dark red and therefore more visible than the shimmery gold Naruto sports. 

He is, quite honestly, completely adorable and a little girly looking. There is no doubt he and Naruto are related, those differences aside. They look alike in the way siblings do, and they both have tanned skin and the three lines on each cheek that mimic whisker marks. 

_ Huh. _ That part of him that hosts memory-knowledge makes him feel like his red hair is...odd. When he thinks of red hair, he thinks of a shade of orange. Ridiculous, honestly. Red is  _ red, _ after all. Kids had all sorts of hair colors. There are even a few with varying shades of blond-yellow, like Naruto — except not. His hair is bright, like sunshine and pale gold.

Natsume pokes his cheek with a finger and watches his reflection do the same. He pinches a strand of bright red hair. There’s no one with hair like his.

_ At least,  _ he thinks,  _ no one in this backwater orphanage.  _

“‘M hungry!” Naruto complains, dragging Natsume’s attention away from the mirror.

He hops down, “Yeah, ‘kay.”

* * *

Dinner is miso and rice. Natsume is getting really tired of rice.


	2. burnt orange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AaaAAaA i love everyone reading this rn

So, ninja are a thing. Categorized in general as  _ shinobi, _ women being coined as  _ kunoichi. _ Again, the thought is a little odd — but he can’t exactly ignore it when they show up at the orphanage with their flak jackets, headbands and weapons. (Weapons that are carefully kept out of the reach of all the eager, wide-eyed children.) 

All Natsume really gets out of it is a sudden understanding of Konoha and the way this world works. They are, without doubt, a military state. One that doesn’t see the harm in overtly thrusting propaganda in the faces of small orphan children in hopes of loyalty and recruitment. Because who would miss a kid that had no family waiting at home?  _ They were a resource. _

Naruto is endlessly enchanted with the idea of ninja. Everytime a recruiter comes by, he sits with wide, sparkling eyes and listens in rapture as they spin tales of power and heroics. Natsume isn’t an idiot. He knows full well these shinobi are here to sway as many kids as possible and turn them into killers.

He’s not an idiot.

That doesn’t mean the thought of power and strength isn’t  _ intriguing.  _

Right now he’s too weak to protect himself, let alone his brother. His limbs are only partially cooked noodles and there’s absolutely no muscle definition to speak of. Shouldn’t be, at his age, but it’s still annoying to feel less capable. So he listens carefully to their speeches of grandeur, trying to pick out the parts of reality they’ve woven into the embellishments. Whenever one of the recruiters — and it’s almost always a different one every time, even if they promise to come back and visit with hollow smiles — meets his eyes, he scowls and glares. Almost out of habit, at this point. 

They don’t cow under his stare like matrons and other children do. Instead they generally just look blank faced, uncomfortable, or assessing. That last one makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up…Even if it does feel nice to not get looked at with abject distaste. Or maybe they just hide it better.

“Nacchan, I wanna be a shinobi!” Naruto exclaims for the hundredth time, running around the nearly empty yard with his arms wide. 

Natsume keeps an eye on him while stretching. The flexibility of baby bodies is as fascinating as it is startling. “So you’ve said.”

“What ‘bout you?” His little brother asks, moving to run in circles around Natsume.

He smiles fondly at the sight, “Sure, why not?” 

It’s not like he has any true desire to be a shinobi. He likes reading and drawing, would love to maybe study history or write a book — the kind of activity required to be a shinobi isn’t superbly  _ enticing. _ But it’s becoming rapidly clear to him that no one is willing to lift a  _ finger  _ to help the twins in any way, shape or form. It would probably be like that forever. Which means it’s up to Natsume to step up to the plate and do what he can to protect and provide for his little brother. If that means becoming a shinobi? Then so be it.

“We’re gonna be super cool, ya know!” Naruto punches his little fists out, filled with boundless energy. “Boom! Bam! Twin team!”

Natsume feels his lip twitch in amusement at the sound of Naruto’s verbal tic. He has no idea where the boy got it from, but Naruto’s habit of adding  _ ya know _ to the end of his sentences doesn’t seem to be fading anytime soon.

“Oh, Nacchan, hey!” Naruto suddenly pauses in his imitation of a ninja battle, “What’s a birthday?”

“A birthday?” He blinks in bewilderment.  _ Ah, shit. Did I really forget that? Well, it’s not like it was important to our survival. _ “‘S the day you were born. We’re twins so we’ve got the same one. You count when the day passes every year ‘cause that’s how ya keep track ‘o your age.” 

Naruto wrinkles his nose. “What’s  _ that  _ mean? Born? What kinda word iss’at?”

Natsume hums, brow furrowing as he considers exactly how to go about this explanation. “It’s just the word for how ya came int’a bein’.” It’s a lackluster response, but he’s not touching the birds and bees subject with a ten foot pole.

“Huh. Okay.” The blonde presses his lips together in a pout, face scrunched in a decidedly foxy manner — his thinking face. “So a birthday is the day ya were born...then what’s ours?”

_ Good question.  _ Natsume doesn’t know the answer to that. He doesn’t even know how old they are. They can’t be more than three or four. Even then, it’s hard to tell because baby bodies are just... _ weird. _ Him and Naruto are relatively small, too. 

“I dunno, Naru. No one ever tol’ me.” It smarts a little, not having an answer for his curious brother. It also kind of pisses him off that no one ever thought to tell them at all. Or celebrate it. Though with the way everyone acts around them, Natsume isn’t shocked that the matrons ignored it. Furious and disappointed, maybe. Shocked? No.

Naruto stomps his feet, not out of anger, but to shake off a little more of his endless energy. He’s always fidgeting and moving, the need to  _ do _ practically bursting out of him at all hours. It makes dealing with bedtime atrocious for Natsume.  _ His little brother is not a quiet kid. _ Nor does he like staying stationary while dead asleep.

“I’m gonna ask Mori-san.” Naruto decides, nodding his head sharply.

Natsume squints, “Who’s that again?”

The blond just laughs, loud and adorable, somehow thinking that Natsume’s refusal to remember the matron’s names is the funniest thing on the planet.

* * *

Turns out their birthday is October 10th and they’re currently three years old. Natsume’s guestimate was actually right! It’s currently April, so they’ll be turning four this year. 

“That’s right,” Mori-san, the one Natsume had identified as the tan one, says, her mouth set in a taut line. There’s a flash of something dark and victorious in her eyes. “You’ll turn four and the two of you will be out of here.”

Naruto blinks at her, “What’aya mean?”

She opens her mouth once more, and there’s no mistaking the cruelty in the lines of her face.

Natsume smashes his fist against the doorway, interrupting whatever she might have said. He peers into the room like he’s just arrived and hadn’t been standing out in the hall when Naruto meandered into the kitchen to find Mori-san. When she meets his eyes, she flinches back and shuts her mouth.

“Naruto, let’s go play.” He coos, eyes trained on the woman and the smile that slips across his lips is decidedly  _ not nice. _

“Okay!” His little brother says, not noticing the tension or ignoring it. He runs over to Natsume and eagerly takes his hand. “Let’s play ninja!” 

“Again?” 

“Mm!”

As they leave, Natsume glances back at Mori-san, who stands pale-faced and tense. She never takes her eyes off of him until they disappear around the corner of the doorway. While it’s still surprising to him that both he and Naruto seem to be able to scare adults, only  _ he _ takes advantage of it. Naruto always sinks in on himself when people treat him like garbage, not knowing why and not having the extra mental aid that Natsume has to power through it. This gross behavior by  _ adults _ towards a  _ child _ is what makes Natsume not at all sorry about using their fear against them. 

If they wanted to wave their weakness in his face, they couldn’t blame him for taking advantage of it.

All he really has to do is glare and make mean faces and people go scurrying like rats. His face isn’t even inherently scary looking! His features are still rather adorable and girly-looking, even his resting face is soft. (Which is a bit of a bummer, if he had a resting bitch face then it would make his intimidation game that much stronger.)

* * *

Naruto wants friends. Natsume would have to be blind to miss that. As much as he loves his brother, spending every waking minute with the blond boy is exhausting. To begin with, Natsume isn’t much of an extrovert. Keeping up with Naruto takes more energy out of him than he likes, and some days he just wants to be able to sit alone in a room and read. But if he does that, then Naruto gets to sit around, alone, and watch other kids play while they purposefully leave him out. He tries — oh, he tries — but kids are  _ warned away _ after the first few times. As if Natsume and Naruto carry some kind of disease. 

Natsume doesn’t try. He doesn’t want to make friends with these little idiots. 

So it’s both stressful and relieving when about five days after their fourth birthday, they move into an apartment. For one, it means everything is much quieter. They have their own space, their own monthly allowance, and no supervision. That last one probably isn’t great when you consider that both he and his little brother are  _ four. _ Luckily, Natsume has a lifetime of information in his head. 

_ Keep the house clean. Don’t touch hot stoves. Change your sheets. Check expiration dates on food. _

All the little things that would have been impossible for a toddler to figure out on their own without being taught. Or learning through experience. He’s pretty sure a normal kid would literally die. Whether from malnutrition, burns, drowning in the tub, or falling —  _ which is a legitimate concern, because they live in an apartment at the top of the building and even have their own balcony _ — there is no thought or care about their safety. 

The con, however, is that neither Naruto or Natsume have set foot outside the orphanage grounds before. They don’t have access to a yard anymore either, which means Naruto can only burn off his energy by  _ leaving the house _ and facing the dangers of the outside world. 

Konoha is actually quite pretty, in a rustic, japanese-infused way. The main streets are packed dirt, not a stone in sight. Stalls and stores line the roads, the air filled with the babble of citizens and the scent of five hundred different things. The individual houses are much farther away from the main hubbub, and there’s sections of the village for apartments. Those buildings look like something out of an old movie that Natsume can’t remember seeing. It’s as if five different buildings had meshed together, ramshackle yet sturdy, textures and colors changing with every level. Their own apartment is at the very top of one such complex, a small, one bedroom hole in the wall. It has a kitchen-living room combo, a bedroom and a bathroom.

When they’re older, it’ll certainly be far too cramped for the two of them. As it is, they only have one bed. That’s alright though, Natsume is used to his brother clinging in his sleep by now. The very first thing he does when the matron drops them off, tossing a key at them and leaving without a word, is clean. Naruto eagerly explores, excited by the idea of living alone.

“Nacchan! We have our own  _ bathroom!” _ Naruto exclaims, arms up in the air and baby teeth gleaming as he smiles. 

“That means we have to clean it, too.” Natsume mutters, pulling his head out from under the sink. He shuts the cabinet and grips the rags he’d found there. Whoever gifted them this apartment at least outfitted it with basic things — like cleaning supplies, dishes and toilet paper. The place is furnished, and they even have a towel set for the bathroom. It seems like the only thing  _ they _ will have to worry about is getting food and making sure they don’t kill themselves. 

Naruto groans, “Cleanin’ is boring!” He drags out the last word, little feet pattering across the wood floors. He launches himself up onto the ratty green couch they’ve been provided with. Natsume eyes its rundown appearance distrustfully. He hopes there’s some disinfecting spray in the cleaning supplies.

“But necessary,” Natsume reminds him, dragging a stool over so he can reach the kitchen sink to wet the rags. He can’t  _ wait _ to be taller. “Can’t be a ninja if ya can’t be organized.”

“Hm.” Naruto hums without care, knees dug into the cushions as he presses his nose and fingers to the window the couch sits under. Even from across the room, Natsume can see the way his little brother’s sky blue eyes are glued to the brand new sights outside. 

_ Ah, well. He can be a kid a little bit longer. _ Natsume doesn’t mind picking up Naruto’s slack as he learns. It’s what their parents should be doing — but, well. 

That doesn’t mean he’s going to do  _ everything. _ “Hey, let’s make a game out of it, whoever cleans their half of the house first gets to pick dinner.”

* * *

He lets Naruto win. It’s not as if either of them know much about food or the kinds of places to get it, so he’s jumping for any one dish. Their fridge has a few items; a couple pieces of fruit, some milk, and about six frozen meals. The stipend they received has about 10,000 ryo, and they’ll receive a check every month of the same amount. Natsume has no idea if that’s a lot of money or not. What he does know is that it’s all they have to cover food, clothing and toiletries. For two growing children. He’ll have to do some looking around when they get to the market, that way he can check out prices and see what the norm is. Though wary of not taking enough, he hides away over half of it under their fridge and only takes 2,000 ryo with him when they leave. The bills feel heavy and awkward in his pocket, but he tries not to draw too much attention to it when they finally make it out into the street. The last thing he needs is to get mugged.

Turns out they don’t really have to worry about that.

Naruto skips happily by his side, blue eyes wide and mouth agape as he swings their joined hands. He points at everyone and everything they pass, talking nonstop. He hasn’t noticed yet, but Natsume has.

The people they pass do double-takes. Eyes glance over them, then pause and heads swivel back in their direction. Whispers start up, civilian women huddle and hold their hands to their mouths in an attempt to be quiet. 

Natsume grips Naruto’s hand a little more securely and glowers at anyone willing to meet his eyes. Most of them skirt around nervously, no one daring to come close as they stroll innocently down the street. Two four year olds in worn shorts and ratty blue t-shirts with a red swirl on the back. 

Met with suspicion, fear, and anger.

He doesn’t miss the ones who glare back, the ones whose faces twist and scowl. There’s something terrifying about an adult staring you down with rage in their eyes when you’re all of three feet tall. He hates that it scares him. He makes sure none of that fear is seen on his face. All the tension almost makes him forget about the money issue.

Though reluctant, he finally turns his gaze away from the people and looks around the street. The shops are colorful, signs out front covered in bold kanji and pictures of products. There are a couple stalls of fruit, knick knacks or fast food pressing into the street, and citizens walk around them with familiar ease. Naruto puts a finger by his mouth and stares up at one of the carts, the scent of something fried wafting towards them. 

It makes Natsume’s stomach clench in hunger. 

“Hey, what’s that?” Naruto asks loudly. 

The man at the stall turns to them with a customer service smile on his face. “Oh, it’s—” Then he pauses as he registers who exactly stands before him. The pleasant expression slips off his face in an instant, a dark look replacing it. “None of your business. Scram.”

Naruto recoils at the harsh tone, obviously shocked by the sudden aggression. Being bullied by kids is one thing, but they’ve never dealt with  _ actual _ aggression from an adult before. The two matrons had been too wary, especially with Natsume around. In the face of this?

Natsume swallows and pulls his brother away. “We’re goin’.”

“B-But!” Naruto begins, stumbling as he’s dragged, “The food…” 

“We’ll go somewhere else,” he promises. “That guy was a jerk. I don’t wanna pay him nothin’.”

His brother doesn’t look very happy, but nods solemnly after glancing over his shoulder. The stall owner is still watching them as they wander away, his brown eyes narrowed. Natsume feels the urge to stick out his tongue, only  _ just _ managing to refrain from doing so. 

They don’t have luck at the next one, or the next one or even the one after that. No one wants to give them the time of day, no one wants to risk serving them. On the bright side, he gets some knowledge about the worth of money. A bag of apples is around 20 ryo. A bowl of udon is 140. The 2,000 ryo in his pocket suddenly feels even heavier than before. He’s carrying way too much for two meals.

Finally, when the evening is starting to edge into night and Natsume’s feet hurt from walking, they find what looks like a grocery store. It’s quaint, the storefront half wood, half glass. Every inch is plastered with posters advertising products inside and deals on food. When he pushes the door open a bell chimes at the top.

“This don’t look like a restaurant.” Naruto observes, eyes squinting at the cramped aisles. 

“Doesn’t.” Natsume corrects absently. “And it’s a grocery store, that’s why.”

He pulls his brother further in, and Naruto quickly forgets the reason why they’re here and not at a food stall when he spots everything the aisles have to offer. Natsume has to pull him away from rubbing his grubby hands on half the contents of the store. 

“C’mon,” he goads, “Pick something over here.” 

There’s a pre-made food section with some hot meals still left. Natsume isn’t entirely sure what they are, but they can’t afford to be picky right now. He presses his free hand on the sliding glass and pushes it open. A burst of heat smacks him in the face, and he ignores it in favor of pulling out one of the containers. The kanji scrawled on the box spell out  _ yakitori. _ He’s pretty sure that’s some kind of meat kabob. Naruto pulls out one filled with fried rice.

Neither of their choices are particularly healthy, but they’re buying their food from what Natsume is beginning to assume is a convenience store,  _ not _ a grocery store. From the rack of chilled foods, he pulls out a container of onigiri, releasing Naruto’s hand so he can hold the stacked boxes. The food at the orphanage wasn’t exactly special or varying, so he’s not even sure if he’ll like half the stuff they buy. 

“What’a we do now?” Naruto asks, fingers edging around his box like he’s trying to figure out how to open it. There’s a distant bell sound from the front of the store.

“We gotta pay for it ‘fore we can eat it.” 

Naruto stops messing with the box, giggling sheepishly. “Sorry!”

Smiling softly at the look on his little brother’s face, Natsume just shakes his head. You’d think he’d be used to having to teach Naruto... _ everything. _ “Just stay close, okay? We can’t hold hands like this.”

“Okay, Nacchan!” The blond agrees easily, trailing after him when he starts walking to the counter. 

There’s a younger teen behind it with a bored expression on his face. Dark hair hangs over his forehead and his eyes are a dull blue. Natsume stands up on his tiptoes and puts the boxes on the counter. Naruto glances at him, then mimics the movement with his own. They both peer over the edge with wide eyes.

The boy — because honestly, he can’t be more than fifteen, frowns heavily, looking distinctly uncomfortable when he sees them and their pudgy fingers wiggling against the countertop. “You even got the money for this?” He asks.

Natsume quickly adds up the prices in his head. With an unkind smile that’s partially hidden by the counter, he says,“165 ryo, right?” He then proceeds to take a 200 ryo bill — the smallest they have — out of his pocket, placing it before the teen and his ugly scowl. 

“Hey, mister! Do you work here? What’s your name?” Naruto interjects. 

The kid takes the bill and flickers his dull gaze to Naruto’s cheery countenance. “Of course I work here, stupid. And my name is none of your business. Get out of here already.”

Natsume puts his hand out, palm up. “Change. Then we’ll leave.”

“You should be grateful I’m even letting you _buy_ _food.”_ The teen snarks, shoving their food boxes. Natsume scrambles to catch them before they tip and spill onto the floor. He awkwardly maneuvers them into his brother’s arms, trusting Naruto to handle them for the moment.

“The change.” He demands again. With no job and only Konoha’s orphan fund to rely on, they couldn’t afford  _ not _ to pinch pennies. And this little jerkwad has no right to withhold money that doesn’t belong to him. Natsume is a hundred percent sure that’s illegal — he’s also pretty sure no one will give a shit when it involves him and his brother. 

“No way—” The kid starts, then pauses. His face goes pale as he stares at something behind them. “Fine.” He fumbles with the register before pulling out their change. For a moment it looks as if he’s going to throw it, then he glances behind them again and grudgingly drops it on the counter. 

Natsume swipes it quickly and shoves the coins in his pocket. 

He takes two of the containers from Naruto and finally turns around. There’s a man a few paces back dressed in a jounin uniform, ankles wrapped and his headband — not visible. Instead there’s a bandana on the man’s head. He’s young looking, maybe early twenties or near enough, with features on the handsome side of plain. Straight brown hair falls down to brush his jaw, and his eyes are only two shades darker. Between his lips there’s a long, needle-like…toothpick? His posture is loose and unassuming, not a flash of emotion other than boredom on his face. Natsume has never seen him before.

Their gazes meet, umber against the sky, and Natsume holds it for a second. Wondering.  _ Considering. _ Then he ushers his brother past the man and out the door. He just wants to get out of here before it’s so dark they can’t find their way home. 

He tries not to think about how that shinobi was the only one today who didn’t look at them with disgust.

The moon is high in the sky when they finally get home. They’re both sweaty and aching, stomachs tense in hunger. They don’t use the table, instead they sit on the ground and eat with their hands. Naruto eagerly talks about everything he saw, even though Natsume had been right next to him the whole time. He nods at the right moments and gives short replies as he eats — but Naruto is used to it. 

The Yakitori is great, as are the salmon onigiri, but he’s not a fan of the onigiri with the red bean filling. Naruto eats it without much complaint, the literal black hole that he is. Washing him up afterwards is a bit of an event, because he doesn’t want to take a shower and throws a small tantrum. 

After Naruto is settled in bed, both of them freshly showered and teeth brushed, Natsume goes back into the living room and cleans up. Naruto is an unfortunately  _ messy _ eater, so the ground is sticky with the remnants of grease, soy sauce and the occasional grain of rice. After, he wanders back in and observes his little brother. Naruto is laid out spread-eagle on their single bed, sleeping without a care in the world. The thin blanket is already tangled around his legs and his features are washed pale by the moonlight. Carefully, Natsume crawls onto the bed.

When his brother doesn’t stir, he relaxes and turns to face the window. He peers out into the darkened streets of Konoha, the streets lit with lanterns and a few stragglers still wandering in the cool fall air. All the stress and activity of the day is catching up with him, but sleep is the last thing on his mind. 

_ I need to be a shinobi, _ he thinks.  _ I need to be so strong that no one even  _ thinks _ about bullying us.  _

* * *

The day they find the park, Naruto has a good few hours of running around with kids who have no idea who he is. Then their parents come to pick them up, and each time the adults scowl or look at the twins with thinly veiled fear. 

“Don’t talk to them.” A mother scolds her child, her hand tight on the kid’s arm. “Don’t you  _ ever _ play with them again.”

She’s not making much of an effort to whisper, because both he and Naruto hear her poisonous words. The boy in her grasp glances back at them with usure green eyes.

“Okay.” He says.

And that’s that. The children don’t know  _ why _ they have to avoid Naruto and Natsume, but blind hatred is a learned trait. They do it anyway.

He really wants to know exactly  _ what  _ they’ve done to earn this kind of treatment. The answer is, of course,  _ nothing. _ Because they were children. Frowning heavily, Natsume throws the woman a dark scowl and feels victorious when she flinches and tugs her snot-nosed brat away. At his side, Naruto looks down at the ground sadly, toeing the dirt morosely. 

“Don’t worry, Naru. We don’t need friends anyway.” 

The blond shrugs, looking up to watch the kids walk away with their parents, hands clasped and smiles on their faces. “But it’d be nice to have jus’ one, ya know.”

Natsume did know. An introvert he may be, but even  _ he _ wants someone to look at them without scorn just  _ once. _ It’s tiring to have no one to turn to aside from a literal child, to have no one to trust and hold conversation with. Natsume is a parent more than he is a brother, he has no one for himself. But he can’t let those feelings take root, he can’t let himself get distracted by his own growing loneliness. Naruto is the real child here, the one who deserves happiness. He looks around with wide, innocent eyes while Natsume is already glaring away, bitter and wary. 

He doesn’t say any of that. “You have me.”

Naruto smiles, “Yeah!”

Natsume can only hope that will be enough.

They race each other home, Naruto with his arms behind him. He’s been trying to imitate the shinobi who run across the rooftops. It doesn’t seem particularly efficient, and half the time Naruto loses his balance mid-step and ends up tripping. But if all the shinobi are doing it, then it must be for good reason. Natsume tries it himself, when they’re at the park and running through the trees, far from the laughter of other kids. 

It’s not hard to tell the difference between civilians and shinobi. Civilians are the ones who scowl too easily and flail out of the way when he and his twin run by. Shinobi, even when not in their uniforms, still carry a dangerous sort of grace that Natsume is envious of. They dodge oncoming children with such ease — it’s as if they were planning to move that way the whole time. 

So maybe Natsume is a little bit more than envious. He’s downright jealous. One day he’ll be able to move that smoothly.  _ One day. _ Who cares what the people of Konoha say? And he can still hear their whispers, trailing after him and Naruto wherever they go. 

“It’s those boys—”

“You’ve heard, right?”

“Can’t believe they’re allowed to—”

He grits his teeth and pushes forward, little legs straining. The weather is getting colder and he’ll have to use some of their money to buy winter clothes. Just the other day he and Naruto had managed to go shopping for a few spare underthings and shirts. They weren’t given much to wear from the orphanage aside from the clothes on their back. 

_ Coats, scarves...longer pants. Probably boots, if they sell anything like that. All I’ve seen are people wearing those ridiculous sandals. What do they do when it snows? Hope their toes don’t fall off? _ It’s worrying to think about how much money it’ll cost. It’s worrying to think that he can’t get a job for another few years, if even then. (Becoming a shinobi really is his only route, isn’t it?) Relying on Konoha’s ‘kindness’ puts a sour taste in his mouth, especially considering they likely didn’t give much of a shit otherwise. 

Beside him, his brother huffs for air, “Can we have curry tonight?”

They have some left over from yesterday’s takeout. It wasn’t Natsume’s favorite, but it’s food and he isn’t exceedingly picky to begin with. At this point, anything is better than plain rice and miso soup. 

He takes a deep breath through the stitch in his side and pretends he can’t feel the stares of every villager in their vicinity, “Yeah, why not? But I get t’ choose tomorrow.”

Naruto leaps, arms spread wide, “Yay yay!” 

His infectious joy makes Natsume wish he could pretend Naruto didn’t hear the vitriol spat their way either. But he did. 

Every single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes that was genma, he That Bitch


	3. golden yellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is hella slow but it had to be done for ExpositionTM

The first snow happens mid-november. It’s frigid inside their apartment, and the two of them have to burrow under the covers together for warmth. Luckily, both he and Naruto seem to run high, which creates a little pocket of heat for them to hide in. Konoha winters get  _ really _ cold, just as their summers reach high enough temperatures to bake eggs on the street. 

It was a good call to purchase a bunch of blankets, even if it meant they had to buy a few more instant meals than Natsume would have liked. There’s at least five blankets on the bed now, and he’s warm and content enough that he could lay here forever without moving. Outside their blanket burrito is icy hell.

He’s not sure if they have heating, or if the landlord just refuses to turn it on. He’d  _ ask, _ if he knew who the hell the landlord  _ was. _ All the rent money is taken care of without their interference. Sure, Natsume can go looking. But does he really want to? It’s not as if he can do anything about it yet, being the weak little four year old that he is.

“Nacchan, I’m bored.” Naruto complains, his legs and arms flailing under the sheets.

The redhead frowns, “What, ya wanna go out ‘n the cold?” Just a half hour ago, they’d lasted all of five minutes eating breakfast in the kitchen before they’d flown back into bed. 

Naruto grumbles, his eyes squinting and lips pouting. “But it’s so borin’! I hate just sittin’ here! I wanna go play!”

“Well,” Natsume sighs in resignation, “We have some winter clothes. You have t’ put ‘em on if ya wanna go outside.”

His little brother flings off the sheets in excitement, “YES! Ah, cold!”

The chilly air immediately seeps into their space and Natsume hisses at the sensation, goosebumps rising along his visible skin. He groans, “Ugh, c’mon.”

They get out of bed, teeth chattering. The closet has a sliding door with a crack in the frame. There is easily enough space for twice as many clothes as they own — but, well, that would cost money. Natsume has it organized by season, to prevent Naruto from tossing everything to the ground while looking for something to wear. He stands on his tip toes and pulls down the jackets they’d picked out last week. They’re already both clad in long pants and thick sweaters, having changed just before breakfast. 

For Natsume, he’s merely wearing all black, and his puffy winter coat is a blue that’s at least two shades darker than his eyes. Naruto prefers colors, however. So while his pants are black, his sweater is pale green and the coat he’s currently slipping on his tiny frame is eye-searing orange. Natsume doesn’t have the slightest clue why his brother is attracted to such a loud color, but it fits. 

Naruto totters over to the door, face flushed with eagerness. He plops clumsily on the ground to pull on his boots, some ratty secondhand things that are a size too big. Natsume manages to wrap a scarf around his brother’s neck and force gloves over his pudgy fingers. 

“I wanna gooo!” Naruto tugs at the doorknob.

Natsume scowls at his brother’s back, still tying the laces on his own well-worn boots. “Just hold on a second, the snow will still be there.”

When he’s finally ready, he gently pushes Naruto out of the way and opens the door. His little brother flies past him with a yell, “Snow! Snow! Snow!”

Natsume quickly locks the door behind them, running after Naruto’s exuberant form. “Hold on! Stop running, you could slip!”

They make it all the way down to the ground without incident, but then Naruto proceeds to jump into the nearest snowbank. He pops up a second later, nose red and clumps of melting snow stuck in his hair. “COLD!”

“Jeez, you’re gonna get sick.” And wouldn’t  _ that _ be the worst thing ever. It’s amazing that neither of them have, actually. He’s not going to take that luck for granted — a sick Naruto would be awful to deal with. Naruto takes his hand when he offers, and he pulls his shivering brother out of the snow.

Konoha looks different when covered in snow. Softer, somehow. Beautiful, even, if Natsume feels like being poetic. The freshly fallen snow crunches under their boots, leaving a trail of tiny footprints down the street. Naruto keeps his hand clasped in Natsume’s, his blue eyes turned up to the cloudy sky and his tongue out to catch falling flakes. Everytime one lands against his golden eyelashes he scrunches his nose and blinks furiously.

Natsume watches from the corner of his eye, relishing in the carefree innocence of his brother. How he’s able to smile despite the clipped comments and poisoned arrows directed at their backs, Natsume will never know. Maybe Naruto is stronger than him.

He doesn’t think that would be so bad. If he has to, Natsume will willingly shield his brother from the worst of the scorn. Because Naruto is precious, he’s like sunlight and hope and a hundred soft, kind adjectives that Natsume doesn’t have the vocabulary for.  _ Naruto is just a child. _

They spend hours at the park, rolling globs of snow into lumpy, misshapen snow people. They get in a two-way snowball fight, because joining other kids ended up being disastrous when they all turned on him and Naruto. Dodging snowballs packed with ice and rocks wasn’t very fun, but at least most of the kids had shitty aim.

“I feel sweaty ‘n cold.” Naruto huffs, his breath heavy and condensed in a cloud before him. He wiggles his gloved fingers and waves his arms in wide circles, still filled with energy even hours later.

“Feels weird, huh?” Natsume laughs, his own toes and fingers feeling like icicles, while his torso is hot and sweating under the layers. Both of their noses are running, their cheeks bitten red by the cold. “Ya gettin’ hungry yet?”

Naruto pats his tummy and hums, rocking on his heels. “Hm...yeah! Can we get some food?”

“We gotta go home, I didn’t bring any money.” There was no way he was going to risk ruining the money in the snow. “I think we have some instant ramen left.”

The blond lights up, “YES!”

“You like ramen way too much.” It wasn’t even the good kind. Natsume’s never had it himself, but he’s certainly seen and smelled it. He’s pretty sure they won’t be allowed in most establishments — nor is Natsume willing to even try entering them. They get harassed or ignored in the places they  _ do _ manage to buy things from. 

Honestly? Natsume has half a mind to move the hell out of Konoha when he’s finally old enough, dragging his brother along with him. Unfortunately, that route will likely be blocked if he becomes a ninja, unless he wants to go  _ missing nin _ and have the whole force on his ass. 

And he needs to be a ninja to become strong and earn enough money to care for both of them. Naruto shouldn’t have to work and suffer for it.

“It’s the best food in the whole world!” Naruto exclaims, puttering through the packed snow. 

“Gyoza is better.” Natsume mutters, to the abject horror of the blond. His brother whirls around with betrayal on his face. 

“No way, ya know!” 

He rolls his eyes and pushes the other along as they make their way home. “You should be happy I’m not as obsessed as you, it means ya get more of it t’ yourself.”

* * *

After lunch, Naruto and Natsume warm up under their pile of blankets, this time situated on the couch. He has what few books they own in his lap. One of them is stolen, but he’ll never admit to being a thief. It’s not as if the snot nosed kid at the park was using it — or couldn’t afford for it to be replaced. They’re books designed for kids, made to help learn basic japanese. One of the good parts of the orphanage were the resources. Now that they live on their own, there’s no one to help educate them. 

So Natsume decided to do something about it. Naruto isn’t a fan of the lessons, he’s more of a physical learner and whines when he has to sit still for too long. It’s not like Natsume doesn’t have the same issue, the level of energy within him almost feels  _ unnatural  _ at times. That doesn’t mean it’s hard for him to put all that energy into mental work. Naruto, clearly, struggles immensely. 

“Just a little longer, Naruto. Then you can go out and play again.” Compromising is the only way anything gets done around here. “Now try reading this sentence again.”

Naruto furrows his brow in concentration, “Uh... the man...went to…GAH!” He throws his head back, “This is crazy hard! Nacchan, I’m too bored!”

“It’s not hard.” He reprimands, tapping his finger against the kanji. “Look, this says  _ The man went to the store. _ See, you almost had it.”

His brother groans and buries himself further into the blankets until only a tuft of blond is visible. It’s a miracle Natsume managed to wrangle the other boy into studying for as long as he has. They’ve been inside for a few hours now, both of them fed and warmed up — Naruto is probably itching to get back outside as soon as possible. 

Natsume glances back to peer out the window. It’s starting to get darker out, the days shorter in the winter months. It’s probably best to let Naruto out now, so he can burn off as much of that excess energy as he can before he’s locked in with Natsume for the night. He loves his brother, he really does, but playing alone with him for hours gets tiring. As does listening to his non-stop talking. Sometimes he needs a break.

_ As if that’s gonna happen. _ Sighing for what feels like the millionth time, Natsume closes the book and sets it on the wobbly coffee table. At the sound, Naruto perks up, his big eyes peeking from the mass of fabric. 

“Fine, let’s go play.” 

Naruto surges from the blankets, tangling his legs in them and falling on his face. This doesn’t hamper his excitement at all, and the blond wiggles his way out of his self-inflicted confinement to leap across the cold floorboards. 

“YAY!” he crows, already making his way to the door.

“Hey, don’t even think about leaving without putting on your winter clothes!”

Naruto pauses at the door, “Oops.” He says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

Natsume tries not to smile at the sight as he wanders over, once again hit with the change in temperature when he’s away from the cocoon of blankets. He really wants to stay there. He does  _ not _ want to go outside again. It’s not even that he hates winter, he just prefers...warmer temperatures. And not being wet  _ and _ cold. 

“Not for long,” he reminds his brother. “It’ll get dark soon.”

“Sure!”

* * *

There is nothing more terrifying than turning around and finding your kid gone. Natsume isn’t a dad, but with Naruto it’s essentially the same thing. So when he turns around after not hearing the crunch of Naruto’s footsteps, it understandably sends a shock of pure terror through his system. The sky is dark, the moonlight glinting off the snow. A few soft flurries continue to fall, nowhere near as heavy as it had been earlier. It’s far later than Natsume would like — and now his brother is missing. 

A thousand terrible scenarios run through his head, but he swallows down the anxiety and backtracks, following his fresh footprints. It doesn’t take long to find where Naruto had veered off. Just a street back, his path breaks off and turns to the right. Natsume jogs as quickly as he can through the heavy snow while clad in multiple layers, haggard exhales forming thick clouds of condensation. 

Naruto comes into view on the next empty street, his hair lit like a beacon under a harsh streetlight. He’s holding hands with a girl about their age, with dark hair and pale eyes. She’s not dressed for the weather, and her tiny frame is shivering violently. 

“Naruto!” Natsume snaps, “What were ya thinkin’!? Why didn’t ya tell me where you were goin’, ya know!”

His brother jerks in surprise, smiling guiltily. “Sorry, Nacchan, I jus’ forgot ‘n got distracted!”

The girl at his side hiccups, her pale, trembling hand rubbing over her teary eyes. Now that he’s closer, Natsume can see that her eyes have no pupils, and they’re a lovely shade of lavender. She’s holding Naruto’s hand without complaint, without trying to move away. Natsume purses his lips. Contrary to the belief of Konoha’s general population, he doesn’t actually  _ like _ being mean to kids. Only after they turn on him or his brother does he retaliate. 

“What’s’a matter with you?” he asks gruffly, toning down the usual bite in his voice.

The girl sinks into herself a little, “U-Uhm, I-I’m lo-lost…”

“She was cryin’ all alone!” Naruto butts in, “I said I’d walk her home!”

Breathing out through his nose harshly, Natsume can only shake his head. Of course Naruto would do that. He really was too nice for his own good; which was amazing, considering the treatment they’ve experienced so far. Natsume really does wonder  _ where _ the blond got his kindness from — it can’t be  _ him, _ because he’s always too quick to push others away or fight back.

“Alright.” Even he doesn’t feel right about leaving a crying, shivering girl in the middle of a dark street. “Do ya know where ya live?”

She nods, “M-Mhm.” 

He can’t tell if her stuttering is from the cold or from nerves or just how she normally talks. It still dredges up some measure of sympathy for her, and he finds himself unwrapping his scarf from around his neck and draping it over her. 

She looks startled for a moment, her free hand reaching up to press against the green, body-warm fabric. 

“Let’s go.” He says, tilting his head.

They take off down the street, Naruto skipping happily through the snow and half pulling the poor girl behind him. Natsume keeps pace, glancing at every dark corner and alley way that they pass. Three four-year-olds out at night is just asking for trouble, or a kidnapping. There isn’t much talking, their energy put into moving quickly through the snow — and it’s starting to come down a little heavier once more. 

After a good few minutes, they enter an area that looks far more expensive. The houses get larger and they end up running alongside a huge, gleaming white wall. It reeks of upper class and money, which makes Natsume more than a little uncomfortable and out of place. Naruto doesn’t seem to notice or care, pulling the girl along behind him even though she’s supposed to be the one leading.

“H-Here….” She whispers eventually, breathing heavily. 

They stop, seeing a gate leading into whatever the white walls were hiding. There’s a giant house just in view, built with dark wood in the style of traditional japanese architecture. Natsume glances over at the girl, who’s still shivering in her — now that he really looks at it — expensive kimono. He wonders if the only reason she isn’t being mean to them is because she’s sheltered or something and has no idea who they are. 

“Whoa! You’re cryin’ and you live in this big house?” Naruto asks without thought.

Natsume elbows him in the side. “Money doesn’t always mean happiness, Naru.”

The girl looks down, her grip on Naruto’s hand tensing for a moment, enough that the blond looks over at her.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding properly apologetic. “At least you’re not cryin’ anymore! Why’d ya run away to begin with?”

“U-Uhm, m-my Otou-sama…” she mumbles, her gaze dropping to the ground. She looks reluctant to continue.

Naruto looks confused, but shrugs it off with a smile. “Me ‘n Natsume never cry, so you shouldn’t either. Even if things are suuuper hard, I’m sure you can do it!”

“Hinata!” 

Natsume jerks, looking to the gates. A man is approaching, his features stern. The scowl on his face sharpens when pale, pupil-free eyes land on Natsume and Naruto. The tone of voice hadn’t been very nice, either, which already has Natsume’s hackles rising. He glances to the side to see the girl, Hinata, sink in on herself. 

“Naruto, let’s go.” He mutters, pulling his brother away. Sad as it is, there isn’t much they can do here. This guy could seriously hurt them if they stick around. Naruto doesn’t protest, not aware of the situation at hand. 

“Oh, okay. Bye!” He waves back at the girl as they leave.

Natsume glances behind him to see the man towering over Hinata, a giant compared to her tiny, trembling form. He grits his teeth and turns forward, gripping Naruto’s hand tightly. When he raises his free hand to pull up his scarf — he grasps air, and realizes he left it with Hinata. 

_ Well, there goes that. _ He sighs. 

“I wonder why she wanted to run away from her Tou-chan.” Naruto hums, chubby cheeks puffed in thought. “If we had a Tou-chan, I’d never wanna leave!”

It’s a cute thought, but not a realistic outlook of the world. “There’s a lotta different kinds’a parents, Naru. Some of ‘em are like the villagers who glare at us. If ya have mean parents, sometimes it’s better not to have ‘em at all.”

Naruto furrows his brow. “I thought all parents loved their kids? That’s what it’s like at the park, ya know!”

“I think most parents do. But not all of ‘em.” 

“So…” His brother halts, peering at Natsume with wide, concerned eyes. “Does that mean that girl’s Tou-chan is a meanie?”

He recalls the way the man had looked, his face displaying anger rather than worry. How Hinata had sunk in on herself. How quiet she was — and he’s starting to suspect that her stutter is from anxiety rather than the cold. “I think so.”

“Huh.” Naruto starts walking again. “I hope she’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah,” Natsume mutters, a little surprised at how truthful his words are, “I hope so too.”

He does wonder what their own  _ Tou-chan _ would have been like. Could they have been a happy family? Had he and Naruto been loved? Would they be, if their Tou-chan was alive? Their Kaa-chan? It’s no use imagining something that will never happen, but the thought makes him feel wistful. 

(For all he knew, they could have had horrible parents. Parents that were criminals, or parents that hated children. And he and Naruto have to live with  _ not knowing. _ )

* * *

A man is at their door. Natsume opens it only after dragging a stool over and hoisting Naruto up on his shoulders so his brother can peer out the peephole. 

“It’s an old man in robes and a big hat!”

“...Is there anything on the hat?”

“The kanji for fire!”

So, the Hokage is at their door and Natsume has no idea why. He only opens it a crack, staring at the man distrustfully. The Sandaime smiles back, his face weathered with age. It’s definitely him — hard not to recognize a guy whose face is plastered on a mountain. 

“Hello boys, I’m here to drop off your check.” he says, procuring an envelope from within his robes. 

It’s the leader of their village, so Natsume doesn’t think he can just turn the man away. Especially when he’s giving them the money they need to survive. Opening the door up the rest of the way, Natsume steps aside so the Sandaime can come in. 

The old man wanders in casually, subtly glancing around. If he’s surprised at how clean and organized the place is for housing two four-year-olds, he hides it well. 

“Hey, who’re you?” Naruto rudely points a finger at the Hokage, eyes squinted. 

The man just grins as Natsume cringes.  _ They’d  _ just _ gone over the Hokage’s! _ What a way to discover that his brother barely retains  _ anything _ from their study sessions. 

“Sarutobi Hiruzen, Naruto-kun. I’m the Sandaime Hokage.”

Naruto gapes, “You know my name?”

“Of course I do,” Hiruzen replies, “And I know little Natsume-kun’s name, too.”

“I’d hope so,” Natsume mutters, “You’re deliverin’ our money.”

Chuckling, the old man places the check on the kitchen counter. He appears oddly amused and soft when he gazes at them. It’s a deep contrast from how they’re usually looked at. 

Natsume is immediately suspicious. 

“True, I came to do just that. But I’ve also come to speak with you boys about your futures.” Hiruzen pinches his gray beard, the picture of a stereotypical old man. “How do you feel about being shinobi?”

Naruto’s eyes light up and he starts bouncing on his toes. “I wanna be one! Shinobi are super cool, ya know! Are you gonna teach us? Can we learn crazy powerful jutsu? And go on missions? Oh, Oh—”

“I was rather thinking about enrolling you both in the Academy, it’s where all young shinobi hopefuls go to learn and train.” Hiruzen interrupts smoothly,, “Unfortunately I’m a bit too old now to keep up with you rambunctious youngsters, so I leave the teaching to the Academy Sensei’s.”

It’s a lot like how the orphanage was, with shinobi coming in to entice orphans into joining their cause. Except this was the damn  _ Hokage _ trying to get them to become shinobi, and Natsume doesn’t believe a man who oversees all of Konoha has enough time to personally visit every orphan in all of Konoha. There were too many to count, with this place being a military state. Which begged the question as to  _ why _ he was visiting  _ them. _

What made him and Naruto special enough to warrant personal deliveries and recruitment speeches from the most powerful man in the village?

“What about you, Natsume-kun?” The man asks, still acting like a normal, gentle old man and not the leader of a military dictatorship. 

“The plan was always ‘t be a shinobi.” He replies. To think they started training this  _ young,  _ though. It was always kids around six or seven who started at the Academy — at least, that’s what Natsume had assumed from their time at the orphanage. But  _ four? _

They’ve only recently had their birthday too. 

“That’s wonderful to hear.”

Natsume eyes Hiruzen distrustfully.  _ Is it now? _

He’s kind of getting the feeling there isn’t much of a choice in the matter, and they’re just lucky their paths align with the Hokage’s desires. There’s no way this is just a house call.  _ No way. _ He has to be missing something. Naruto doesn’t seem to care, still jumping for joy at the prospect of learning how to be a super awesome ninja and walk on walls and rescue princesses.

“The new year starts in April, so you still have some time yet before you begin. But I thought it prudent to get your opinions on the matter. It’s not an easy decision to make, and the life of a shinobi is as honorable as it is strenuous.” 

Naruto blinks, “That’s a lotta big words, jii-chan.”

“Naruto!” Natsume hisses, poking his brother in the side. “Watch ya manners!”

“It’s no bother,” the Hokage waves his hand, looking more amused than anything at Naruto blatant disrespect. He pats the envelope of money, “Now, just remember to be careful how you spend this, alright?”

“I got it.” Natsume says, arms crossed. His  _ I mean business _ attitude isn’t really effective when he’s all of three feet tall and adorable. 

The Sandaime ends up talking with Naruto for a few more minutes, the boy hanging off every word the man says. Natsume doesn’t talk much, giving short answers whenever there’s an attempt to draw him into the conversation. The old man isn’t doing anything to make them uncomfortable, but Natsume’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to talk to people normally. In the weeks they’ve been out of the orphanage, he’s grown used to having everyone in the village against them.

Eventually, the Hokage leaves, using the excuse that he’s a very busy man to pull away from Naruto’s non-stop talking. His brother waves as the man walks away, hanging over the balcony to watch the Hokage walk down the street. 

“Come back inside, it’s too cold and ya ain’t wearin’ ya coat.” He orders, shivering by the open door. Naruto huffs out a breath and reluctantly pulls away from the railing. 

“But Nacchan, I’m so excited!” He throws his arms around the redhead, almost sending both of them tumbling to the ground. “We’re gonna be shinobi! We really, really are!”

Natsume pats his little brother’s back in fond exasperation, chest tight with affection and worry. A life as a shinobi isn’t as glamorous as Naruto might wish to believe. At their age, nothing seems like it can hurt them. Shinobi missions are likened to fairy tales, where there’s always a happy ending and impossible victory against an evil villain. In reality, it’s the same as being a soldier. They are the tools —  _ the weapons  _ — used to fight the enemy. Whoever the enemy is. 

They aren’t currently at war, but the nations had just finished with one not even a decade ago. Tensions at the borders are still high and trading routes aren’t up to snuff just yet. At least, according to the village’s civilian gossip. He doesn’t know much about shinobi aside from what the recruiters at the orphanage spoke of. He knows they go on missions that can range from deliveries to rescue to murder — even if that last one was skimmed over. They are, essentially, glorified rent-a-cops. Even though he should, Natsume doesn’t think about what being a shinobi will require of him. He can’t. 

It’s what he’s going to be, so he might as well get used to the idea. He can’t let the thought of violence and murder scare him. So for now, he puts it out of sight out of mind. There’s only one thing to focus on now, and that’s what to do with the money they’ve received. He immediately shuffles over to grab it off the counter, opening the slim envelope and pulling out the bills within. Carefully, he counts the stack once, twice, three times. Just to make sure.

All 10,000 ryo is there and accounted for, just in time for them to go grocery shopping. It’s a good thing, too, Natsume is tired of instant ramen. Naruto loves it so much he might as well bleed ramen broth — that much sodium  _ can’t _ be good for him, but it’s not like there’s many alternatives.

Healthier food is more expensive. 10,000 ryo for a whole month's worth of food for two people only buys so much. Adding clothes and books and other essentials on top of that? Tuning out Naruto’s rambling, Natsume wanders over to the fridge, where a measly 200 ryo sits underneath. After a second of debating, he pulls it out and adds it to the stack in his hand. Maybe under the fridge isn’t the best place to store it. Nothing has been spilled just yet, but knowing Naruto, it’s a disaster waiting to happen. He climbs up on the counter carefully, his arms wobbling with the strain. 

He puts the whole stack on  _ top _ of the fridge, wiping a heavy layer of dust away before doing so. Coughing, he jumps down, arms waving for balance as he lands. 

“Alright, Naru.” He claps the dust from his fingers. “Time to do some more studying!”

His little brother pauses mid rant, a look of dismay overtaking his cherubic features. Not even the puppy dog look will save him this time. “But, Nacchan, do we have to?”

“Absolutely,” he says firmly, “What do ya think we’re gonna be doin’ at the Academy? If we want to form good study habits, we gotta start now.”

In the spring, they’ll begin the first step to becoming trained murderers.

He’ll be damned if Naruto isn’t literate by then. He himself still has a long way to go, only knowing the less complex  _ hiragana. _ More complex kanji characters still confuse him. There’s thousands of them, after all, so it’s not like it’s going to be a walk in the park memorizing them when he only has shitty secondhand or stolen books. 

“C’mon, we’ll do an hour of reading and then you can go play outside.” He compromises. 

Naruto sighs heavily, an over-dramatic look of defeat on his face. “Fiiine, but you promise it’s only an hour?”

“Of reading, yes.” Natsume grins, “We can work on our strokes before dinner.”

Naruto groans and throws himself on the couch. 

As promised, they only read for an hour. Naruto fidgets the whole time and ends up having to reread his segments at least twice, getting caught on certain characters or giving up and throwing a tantrum halfway through. When an hour is up, Natsume knows not to push his luck with his energetic little brother, and releases him into the outdoors. Wrapped up in his winter things, Naruto immediately flies down the steps. When he reaches the bottom, he slips on a patch of ice and falls face first into a snowbank.

“This wouldn’t happen if ya slowed down.” Natsume chides, pulling Naruto out. This has happened way too many times. “The snow ain’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

“I’m just so excited!” Naruto exclaims, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling. “Reading was so boring, ‘n now I’m ready to play!”

“Reading isn’t borin’—” He tries to say, only to get cut off when Naruto lets out a yell.

“No, no, no! No more talkin’ about that!” He takes Natsume’s hand and starts trudging forward, his little boots crunching in the snow. “It’s park time. We can go build a snowman again!”

Natsume lets his little brother tug him along without much of an argument. It’s not like that would get him anywhere. Naruto is a force of nature, a whirlwind of laughter and sunshine and never-ending energy. Natsume can only let himself get dragged along for the ride, lest he risk being swept away entirely. 

His brother dances through the snowbanks, sunlight against hair of the same shade. Gold spills across gold, bright and warm against the naturally tanned tones of his skin. Naruto is the embodiment of all that is good. Natsume knows this — knows he could never face the citizens of Konoha and still think to  _ smile. _ He’s not doing that now. Doesn’t know if he ever will. Yet Naruto keeps trying. Keeps pushing for friends, keeps getting up off the ground whenever he’s shoved down. He stands his ground against bullies and holds his hand out, desperate for anyone to take it. 

Natsume isn’t like that. He doesn’t feel that natural kindness that exudes so easily from his blond counterpart. Maybe he could have been happy in another life, had they not been orphaned. But they’ll never know.

_ He’ll _ never know. 

It’s just them. They’re all they have. Natsume will do whatever it takes to stop Konoha from tainting the open, vibrant smile on Naruto’s face. His little fingers are turned up towards the sun, eagerness in his eyes. Purposeful. Determined. Like he can pluck that burning star from the sky and hold it in his palms. 

Natsume almost believes he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wont even lie i love hinata and i think kishimoto did her hella dirty. good thing fanfiction cures all ills. also naruto apparently failed the genin test two or three times (cant remember off the top of my head) but UH what the hell,, does that MEAN?? how ,, , WHERE does that fit in on the timeline?? KISHI EXPLAIN !!! but anyway i solved that by making Hiruzen think "oh lemme shove them in the academy early so it's easy to keep an eye on them". bam. logic. from there, i'll assume he failed passing the YEAR, and got held back twice until he ended up in the class that's his actual age group / the canon class. because that's literally... the only thing that makes sense to me..... any w h o


	4. dark blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy lmao uh sorry this is actually Late AF

In January there’s a Winter Festival to celebrate the new year. It’s a loud event, the streets decorated with beautiful ribbons, lanterns and countless snow and ice sculptures. Fireworks are set off in the dark, chilly nights for three days straight. Konoha citizens dress in heavy kimonos, put painted masks on their faces and stroll down the packed streets. There’s a big local shrine that people flock to for blessings and luck. Naruto loves the lights and sounds. He presses his hands to the cold window every night to peer into the sky as it comes alive in a myriad of colors. 

He wants to be part of the crowd, wants to eat the food they sell at festival stalls, wants to clap his hands at the shrine even if he doesn’t know what the purpose is. 

Natsume isn’t as eager. 

He  _ knows _ they aren’t liked. That much is clearly obvious. For them to wander around during a time of joy has two possible outcomes. One, and this is the most favorable ending, they get ignored as everyone is caught up in the merriment. Two, their presence ruins the merriment and people attack them. Humans aren’t kind, especially when caught in a mob mentality. Four year olds can’t do much against a bunch of adults, so it’s not really a risk Natsume is eager to take. It’s not as if anything will change! Vendors still won’t sell to them, villagers will  _ still _ eye them like they’re criminals — what would be the point?

They still end up running around at night, hoods and hats pulled over their hair, shadows long in the lantern light. It’s cold and lonely but it’s beautiful. Explosive vibrance in the dead of winter.

There’s another festival in the spring, when the snow is all melted away and the flowers begin to bloom. The weather is cool but the sun is out, and people wear pretty clothes decorated with embroidered flowers in pastel colors. It’s harder to hide in the day, so they get scolded and chased out of a few places while exploring the shrine grounds.

Just a few weeks after, in early April, they begin their first year of the Academy. 

“If ya don’t hurry, we’re gonna be late.” 

Naruto huffs from the bathroom, “Well if ya just let me go—”

“We are not leavin’ until you brush your teeth!” Natsume scolds, stuffing Naruto’s bento into his backpack. He’d spent all last night carefully crafting lunches for him and his brother. Learning to cook was a good way to take up some time — and help their diets. Naruto  _ would _ live off instant ramen if given the option. 

His book collection now covers language, history and cooking. Three of them are stolen. Once again — he’ll never admit it.  _ Hey, books are expensive. _ And it isn’t often he has the opportunity to even get  _ in _ a store that sells them. It’s even less likely if Naruto is tagging along. As much as he loves his brother, Naruto is  _ not _ quiet.

The sink faucet runs for a few more seconds, and Natsume hears his brother spitting. 

“Ok, I’m done!” 

When his brother comes around the corner, Natsume pulls at the blond’s whiskered cheeks and peers at his tiny baby teeth.

“Gwah!” Naruto makes a sound of complaint, but sits patiently until Natsume releases him.

“Alright, you did good.” Swinging his bag over his shoulder, Natsume offers the other bag to his brother. Naruto eagerly puts it on, the worn green knapsack clashing terribly with his bright orange shirt.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Naruto exclaims, hopping into his sandals and flying out the door in seconds. 

Natsume sighs at his brother’s energy, hanging back to lock the door. “Will ya slow down! You don’t even know how ta get there!”

“Do too!” 

They end up running all the way to the Academy, the building in the shadow of the Hokage’s office. There’s a yard area in the front and what looks like a small forest to the sides. Having only one tree in the front with a single swing on it seems a bit odd to him, but whatever. They’re learning how to be murderers, they’re not supposed to be having  _ fun. _

For a few minutes, no one seems to notice them. Families surround children, parents or siblings sending off ninja-to-be with cheery smiles and well wishes. Even orphans are grouped together, laughing and talking with each other as they enter the gates. Naruto’s exuberance dims slightly when he takes in the scene, his little hand reaching out to take Natsume’s.

He glances over at his little brother and frowns at the sad look in those bright blue eyes. “Come on.”

They wander onto the Academy grounds and people begin to notice them. The weight of his backpack is nothing in comparison to the weight of the stares that follow them all the way up to the doors. It’s terrifying. 

The only saving grace is that they aren’t being split up. Both of them are in the same class, but all their classmates are around two years older and both taller and heavier to prove it. Natsume swallows at the confused and antagonistic eyes that turn to him and Naruto as they enter their classroom. There are a few open seats still, and Natsume immediately zeroes in on two open ones next to each other, just by the windows and in the center. Naruto follows when he pulls him along, and Natsume keeps his eyes on the seats and ignores everything else.

Children do not whisper quietly.

“Aren’t those—”

“My kaa-chan told me they were bad news.”

“We can’t be friends with them, I heard they—”

Naruto sinks into himself, frown turning mulish. He crosses his arms and puts his head down on the table. Natsume puts his bag down beside him and begins to take out some materials. Luckily, Naruto can passably read, though it had taken all of Natsume’s willpower not to throttle his little brother during the process. For a four year old, Naruto’s reading comprehension is  _ probably  _ impressive. Natsume is still ahead of him, but that’s to be expected. He’s the older brother after all. 

The door opens for a final time just five or so minutes later, and an adult walks in. It’s a man in a shinobi uniform, his flak jacket only zipped up halfway. He’s got a forgettable appearance, plain features with short brown hair and eyes. Not even a scar or some beauty mark to make him a little more noticeable in a crowd. There’s a stack of papers in his hand, which he places on his desk before looking at the whispering and giggling children.

“None of you should be laughing right now.” His voice is deep, “You can call me Takano-sensei. It’s my job to weed out those who don’t belong in the ninja world. They’ll tell you that you have until the very end before you’re tested. That’s a lie. Your entire Academy experience is a test. You can fail at any moment.” 

Takano-sensei glances at all of them, his gaze barely lingering on Natsume and Naruto. The class is quiet. “I’m going to hand out placement tests. You will do your best, or you will leave.” His palm presses down on the papers he’d put on his desk. “When I call your name, come up here and get one. I hope for your sake you all brought a writing utensil.”

Natsume nudges his brother and Naruto finally pulls his backpack off his shoulders and riffles through it for a pencil. It takes a few minutes before their names are called, almost the entire class is already sitting with a packet of paper at their desk by the time Takano-sensei gets to the  _ U’s. _

“Uzumaki Naruto.” 

Naruto scrambles from his seat, ignoring the whispers that start up again. He bounces down the steps with a foxy grin, acting confident. Acting as if the stares and comments aren’t affecting him. Takano-sensei doesn’t even look at him.

“Uzumaki Natsume.” When his brother comes back to his seat, Natsume stands. He walks a little slower than his brother, no visible expression on his face. Takano-sensei ignores him too, but Natsume can’t tell if it’s malicious or not. The man hasn’t really acknowledged  _ any _ of the students. He seems a bit harsh for a teacher — especially for one teaching first years — but what does Natsume know? Not much, when it comes to the schooling system. Anything relating to shinobi education is very carefully protected and monitored.

There’s only one other person after him, and once they get their test the class is told to begin. They aren’t told how much time they get to complete it. That in itself is probably another added layer to the test. Working with unknowns and under pressure.  _ Smart. _

Natsume flips through the packet. It’s three sheets, test questions on both front and back. It’s a combination of questions from five subjects: math, science, history, language and morality. They get harder as they go, and there’s thirty questions in total with six for each subject. The first math question is basic addition, the last math question is complex algebra. Even then, the hardest questions aren’t  _ impossible, _ but rather the type that only someone who studied a lot would know. 

He answers all the math related ones first. Numbers come pretty easy to him, but he knows that anything more than the algebra he sees will be too difficult. He doesn’t really remember any of the other equations or rules. The language ones are harder, with the last few being more intricate and complex kanji. He can’t read a few of the characters in the last question so he leaves that one blank, and he’s pretty sure he got the fifth question wrong because he made an educated guess based on the other kanji in the sentence.

Naruto isn’t going to get half of these. He doesn’t know anything beyond basic addition and subtraction, and he’s more fluent in reading hiragana and katakana than kanji. Granted, so is Natsume — but he at least knows a little more, especially since his own name is made up of kanji. History? Forget it. He’d had months and he still wasn’t able to make Naruto sit through more than just learning how to read and write. (Passably.) Meanwhile, Natsume devoured history books so he could better understand the world they’re in.

It also served to tell him just how rooted in propaganda and lies their history was. The saying ‘History is written by the victors’ was never more true. Every action the Land of Fire takes in the three wars Konoha has fought in is painted  _ favorably.  _ That right there tells Natsume all he needs to know. War is made up of countless brutalities and mistakes. Not a single lick of that is visible in the history books he’s managed to get his hand on. The public library hadn’t been much better — the one time he’d managed to sneak in. Konoha obviously very carefully controlled exactly what kind of information their citizens could consume. 

The first question is easy enough.  _ What are the names of the four Hokage? _

He’s sure Naruto knows their names, but he’s not sure if his brother knows the correct spellings. The kanji for  _ Senju _ are easy enough. But Hashirama? Tobirama? Both contain kanji that took  _ forever _ for Natsume to memorize. 

Forget even attempting to write  _ Sarutobi _ in the correct kanji. It’s a lost cause for Naruto — hopefully the teacher will accept katakana or hiragana characters instead. Natsume sighs quietly, keeping his pencil steady as he carefully traces out the twenty-two strokes that made up the two kanji for their Sandaime’s last name. At least  _ Hiruzen _ is written in katakana. Can’t go wrong there.

_ Namikaze Minato. _

Natsume blinks down at the name. Yondaime-sama and Naruto only have one character difference in their name, order aside. The man is also the only person to have become Hokage while not coming from a clan, which definitely pissed some people off. That’s just how politics worked. War hero aside, Yondaime-sama carried a name fit for a dock worker or fisherman. There was nothing prestigious about it.

(Quite honestly, Natsume’s just happy it takes the least amount of strokes to write.)

Then the questions pick up a little.

When was the village founded and by who? What were three underlying factors that swayed Konoha into joining the Second Great Ninja War? How did the Third Great Ninja War affect Konoha’s economic status?

_ As if half these kids even know what the word economy means, _ Natsume thinks to himself. Actually most of these questions just...seem designed to fail the majority of kids. Takano-sensei is really throwing them into the deep end without a life jacket. It’s doubtful these kids have even been to school  _ before _ this, which means they didn’t have an opportunity to even learn anything. Some of them probably don’t even know  _ basic _ math.

_ What is the purpose of this test? To see where the majority of students are in the educational system? How much they know? _

He skims over the science questions. It’s not his strong suit, and a few of the questions seem a little odd. _Name a poison._ _What are five examples of a compound? Describe the pH scale; on what level does blood fall? How does chakra interact with natural elements on a molecular level?_

Natsume hasn’t the slightest clue of what chakra is. Aside from...energies? That doesn’t seem very murdery. He leaves that question blank. Science doesn’t come to him as easily as the other subjects. Out of the four subjects he’s done so far, it’s probably the worst he’s done. 

Morality, however, is a completely different field. Maybe he should have expected such a subject to come up, seeing as they were going to be taking lives in the future. Murder and torture can really fuck a person up. Exposing that kind of shit to kids? Something about that just doesn’t sit right with Natsume, even if it’s the norm around here. Logically, you’d think starting young would give the best results. But on the flip side — it leaves you with possibly traumatized teens and adults that end up going crazy or killing themselves. 

Does Konoha even have anything for mental health?

Natsume stares down at the first question.

_ Why do you want to be a shinobi? _

For money. For stability. Because he doesn’t really have a choice in the long run. Those are the true responses he could write down. Unfortunately, that’s probably not what Takano-sensei is looking for. Konoha wants blindly loyal shinobi. They want people willing to die for their village.

_ To be strong enough to protect others. _ Is what he writes, though it’s a lie. There’s some truth in it — he does want to be strong, and he wants to protect Naruto, who fits into the category of  _ others. _ Morality is...tricky. It’s hard to know what the village expects. Konoha yells to the heavens about teamwork, about the importance of working together. But then they write out in their rulebooks about the mission coming before everything and anything. Kill your friend if it means success. Kill your team. Kill yourself.

Natsume answers another question about choosing the many or the few — he writes that he’d save the many, obviously, because that’s likely what’s expected. But he doesn’t care about the many. He only cares about Naruto. His answers are all lies, but he’s going to be a shinobi. Shinobi make a career out of lying. 

He’s one of the first to be done, even though he left three questions completely unanswered. A quick glance lets him know that other students are progressing a little slower, and many have pained or confused expressions on their faces. 

Beside him, Naruto is still scribbling away, face scrunched with stress. It doesn’t seem to be going well for him. Natsume turns to look out the window. He doesn’t want to risk getting called out for attempted cheating. 

Everyone is done by the time lunch rolls around, so on their way out they all place their packets on Takano-sensei’s desk. Naruto is frowning heavily as they walk out into the schoolyard, graphite smudges on his fingers and his knuckles white with how tight he grips his backpack straps. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Natsume says. 

Naruto sighs explosively and tilts his head back. “Gahhh! But that was so hard, ya know! What kinda test was that anyway!”

Natsume shrugs. They sit far enough away from the nearest group of kids to not be overheard. Everyone’s been avoiding them anyway, giving them looks or scowling when they wander too close. Naruto slumps down to the ground beside Natsume, plopping his bag in his lap.

“I think it was just to see how much everyone knew.” He replies, significantly more careful with his own bag. When they both take out their bentos, Natsume’s is more put together than Naruto’s — his almost looks like it’s been shaken.

Naruto stuffs his mouth with onigiri, still grumpy and eyes squinted against the midday sun. “Well it was dumb.”

Natsume just rolls his eyes and eats his lunch. “Don’t try to skip ya vegetables.”

Naruto pauses, eyes wide. There’s a carrot in his hand, poised to be discreetly tossed to the side. “Eh...hehe.”

After he eats, Naruto tries to play with some of the other kids. 

It doesn’t go well.

Takano-sensei gives him an odd look when they get back to class. It’s not particularly nice or mean, or any emotion that Natsume can place. It’s just. Odd. They spend about an hour listening to him talk about the basic ninja rules and regulations, before he makes them all go back into the yard.

They aren’t the only class outside, there’s two others, and all the students gather in a group and sit on the ground. Friends find friends, the sound of children’s chatter fills the air. Natsume and Naruto sit off to the side, closer to some of their classmates. The sun is warm and high in the sky, still bright enough to make it feel early, even though the school day must be ending soon. 

Sarutobi Hiruzen appears.

It takes about a minute before the other kids notice the man moving to stand before their seated group. He doesn’t look very impressive, just old and tired despite the smile on his face. Kind. 

For a military dictator. 

“Hey!” Naruto says excitedly, “It’s that old man from before!”

Natsume sits back on his hands, “The Hokage, Naruto. Not just some old man, even if he looks it.”

The Sandaime glances at them briefly, but doesn’t focus on them beyond that, choosing to address the entire crowd. Natsume really doesn’t know what to make of him. He talks a big game about teamwork and something called  _ The Will of Fire, _ but what does that really mean in the end? It still seems like a big sales pitch towards a bunch of young children who think they’re playing hero. Naruto included.

His little brother has stars in his eyes, bouncing up and down on the ground like he’s about to explode. Natsume sees the same earnest expression mirrored in the face of almost every other kid there. 

For a moment, Natsume is jealous. They look so innocent and excited — why is it only him who feels concerned about the future? About the reality they’re going to have to face? There will be blood on his hands. On  _ all _ of their hands. But they look up to this old man like the sun shines out of his ass, ready to jump right into the fray  _ this very moment. _

Shortly after, families begin to show up to take their kids home. Mothers and fathers gush to the Hokage, and he weathers every comment and simpering expression with grace. Natsume double checks that he and Naruto have all their things. He gives the Hokage one last glance.

They leave, the muttering and glares of the crowd burning into their backs.

* * *

The Academy is great. 

For the most part.

Naruto tries his hardest to make friends, but no one in their class wants to befriend a four year old. Especially when everyone else tells you not to. Kids fall into a mob mentality far too easily, eager to fit in with others and not be discriminated against themselves. Sucks for him and Naruto. They’ve been pegged as the black sheep of Konoha.

It’s just that...while Naruto struggles with the schoolwork and barely pays attention in class, Natsume breezes through it.

It’s boring.  _ Easy. _ The language refreshers are great, however. Japanese is a pretty complex language, so it’s taught consistently throughout all the years. He knows most of what they’re going over in class, but the repetition is helpful. Plus he’s not just scrambling to figure it out for himself. 

As long as he pays attention, everything goes fine. Takano-sensei ignores them. Literally. Neither he nor Naruto can ask questions, because the man doesn’t even look at them or acknowledge when they raise their hands. It means Natsume has to take very,  _ very _ detailed notes, then try to explain it to Naruto later. Which goes as well as one would expect. 

Their schedules go like this:

Natsume gets up and goes through his stretches. Sometimes Naruto manages to wake up enough to do them too. While Naruto showers, Natsume makes breakfast. They eat, then they both brush their teeth and dress before leaving. After the Academy, they do their homework — which takes  _ ages _ because Naruto struggles every second of the way. Then they go out for an hour or two, during which Naruto plays and Natsume runs through whatever new kata he learned at the Academy. They go home. Natsume makes dinner. He showers. Makes bento boxes for the next day. Then they sleep. 

Rinse, wash, repeat. 

It becomes a routine, and one that Natsume has no trouble sticking to. It’s nice, actually, having some kind of structure in his life where he feels like he’s  _ going _ somewhere. Every day he learns more, every day he gets stronger. Spring fades into summer and the heat cranks up, the sun bearing down on them during taijutsu class and making everyone sweat and complain. Their little bodies are put through the ringer. Fifty laps every class. Five more if you act up.

Somehow, the sensei also finds a reason to make Naruto and Natsume run extra. It’s awful, the heat and the sun and the sweat, his lungs burning and his head aching. His legs throb and he constantly feels like jelly. Trying to learn from the sensei teaching taijutsu is worthless. They run through the basic kata, then help correct the other children’s stances. All while giving Naruto and Natsume a wide berth.

Doesn’t matter.

Natsume observes. He watches the other kids, their stances, their corrections. He moves his body slowly and carefully until every kata feels perfect.

“I don’t get it!” Naruto howls, his little fists pounding into the grass he’s sprawled on. He’s still four, and still prone to tantrums. There’s a red mark on his forehead from Natsume’s fist. “Why can’t I get you!”

He sighs and crouches next to Naruto, watching out for flailing limbs. “I just practice more than you.”

Sparring is fun. Just not when Naruto wants to get involved. He’s clumsy still, chubby with baby fat and too eager in his movements. All his attacks are wide and slow. Natsume can see him coming from a mile away. 

Naruto pouts, blue eyes teary. “But that hurt.”

“Yeah, well.” Natsume glances away awkwardly. “Sorry.” He knows their classmates wouldn’t have held back, not like him. Maybe it’s cruel, but his brother has to get used to physical pain.

Or maybe he’ll give up being a ninja entirely.

Natsume can dream.

He pulls Naruto up off the ground. Naruto sniffs and wipes his runny nose on the hem of his shirt. 

“Come on, we’ll run through the kata one more time, then you can go play.” Natsume promises, his tiny body slipping back into the stance. And while Naruto will run away, eager to try and make friends and unable to understand the concept of responsibility and training — Natsume will stay.

He’ll practice until his limbs go numb.

By some luck, his body always feels better in the morning, his muscles less strained. Bruises gone. Little cuts scabbed over. He heals fast, as does his brother. Whether or not that’s a ninja thing is something else entirely. (It could be.) 

* * *

Also, apparently Chakra is a  _ thing. _

* * *

  
  


There isn’t anything inherently  _ fun _ about training. Underneath the unforgiving sun, it’s more of a chore than anything — his incredible stamina aside. It’s busy work. Exercise. It takes a lot of motivation he’s pretty sure he never had before, in that first possible life. In this case, it’s kind of for his  _ literal _ survival, so there’s no other option. There’s also not much else he  _ can  _ do. 

They don’t have board games or cards. The technology feels really wonky here, there’s TVs and movies but they don’t have video games. There’s fridges and electric stoves and cameras, but they don’t use those cameras for security purposes. How weird is that? No computers, no cars, no phones. If he doesn’t throw himself into taking care of Naruto or furthering his education, he’s  _ bored. _ Not even books really help, because the librarian isn’t super nice and he still gets chased away from bookstores most times. 

Training is all he can do. Training and cooking and fathering Naruto, when they should be brothers. That’s the kicker, isn’t it? Natsume isn’t a dad — certainly not Naruto’s. They’re brothers, and Natsume doesn’t actually know if he’s the older one or not. It’s just. A lot. He’s tired and grumpy and his little, childish body isn’t built for this kind of stress. 

In the shade of the trees, Natsume practices his katas until he feels like he’s going to throw up. The park is just meters away, and Naruto is running around with some kids too young to understand, who haven’t been pulled away by their parents. Sweat drips down his brow, stinging his eyes. Crimson strands stick to his skin. He brushes them from his face, then pinches a chunk of his hair between his fingers. It’s been getting pretty long, he hasn’t thought to cut it recently. There’s no way he trusts Naruto with scissors anywhere  _ near _ him. Cutting his little brother’s hair is well and good, but his own hair is another story. 

Turning away from the cheery faces of his brother and the other kids, Natsume moves a little further into the forest. It’s still so hot out, he can barely stand it. The middle of summer really does suck. Natsume drops into the starting stance, weight spread evenly across his feet. He runs through the first few steps, sweeping a leg and lashing out with an arm. To be frank, he can’t do jack shit until he grows up a little. Ninja or not, a four year old doesn’t have the reach, strength, or speed to take on an adult. Chakra reserves? Forget it. They didn’t stop developing for another handful of years, and it was incredibly dangerous to even mess with chakra when you were young. 

Chakra exhaustion kills.

Natsume is not looking to die again just yet. 

He drops his arms, taking another break. He feels tired and bored. The Academy curriculum is slow, or at least too slow for him. He feels eons ahead of everyone, but his body doesn’t match and it’s  _ frustrating. _

“You shouldn’t wander so much, kid.”

Natsume jerks around, reflexively falling into a fighting stance. The one who’d snuck up is probably a decade older, somewhere in his low teens. He’s far taller than Natsume, which isn’t hard to be, seeing as he’s four. The guy is also — amazingly — smiling. Not particularly widely, but it’s there, in the soft curve of his mouth. He’s got curly black hair and matching dark eyes, his lashes long enough to give him a girlish appearance. There’s no hiding the puberty-awkward, masculine line to his jaw, or the way his voice cracks a little. Both of these tell Natsume that the teen is, in fact, a boy. (Probably. Who is Natsume to judge, after all?)

He’s also wearing a hitai-ate around his forehead, the Konoha symbol proudly engraved in the metal. A shinobi. No flak jacket or uniform in sight, but that doesn’t mean much. He’s wearing all black clothes, his shirt flaring at the neck in a wide collar that rises to just below his chin. There aren’t any weapons in sight, but that doesn’t mean the guy isn’t carrying any.

“That’s none of ya business.” He replies belatedly.

The older boy chuckles like he’s heard something funny. “I guess you’re right, squirt. Still wouldn’t hurt to listen, yeah?”

Natsume squints. “Do you want somethin’ or what?”

“You’re kind of a weird kid.” Dark eyes says, hands on his hips. He puts a finger to his lip, “Hm, well. I suppose I do want one thing. What’s your name?”

“Uzumaki Natsume.”

“Nice to meet you, Natsume-kun! I’m Uchiha Shisui!”

_ Right, okay. _ Eyeing the teen oddly, Natsume starts to turn away. “Well, whatever. I’m busy, so…”

Shisui stifles a laugh, “Little kids like you shouldn’t be busy, Natsume-kun.”

“Try being an orphan, then.” He mutters in return. “I’m trying to train. Stop bothering me.”

“So cold,” Shisui whispers dramatically, following near-silently when Natsume begins walking away. “Hey, hey, aren’t you a little young for training?”

He glares at the teen over his shoulder. It wasn’t even his intention to go deeper into the forest, but now he just wants to lose this guy. “You’re an Uchiha, right? Should  _ you  _ really be asking me that question?”

As far as Natsume knows, Clan kids are basically spawned for the sole purpose of being shinobi. They’re purebreds in the eyes of Konoha. Plus, most of them come with fancy bloodlines or secret jutsus. The Uchiha in particular have those wacky eyes. The history books talk a bit about them, but barely anything more than just the casual mention. Actually, the books talk very little about the Uchiha Clan in general, despite them being half the reason Konoha exists.

Shisui hums, “Fair point.”

“You got anythin’ else to do other than follow around a kid?” Natsume scowls, “You’re not some kind of creep, are you?”

The Uchiha pauses, blinking wildly. They hold eye contact for a moment, before a wide, slightly manic grin stretches across Shisui’s lips. “Oh, you’re funny. I  _ like _ you.”

A feeling of dread slides down Natsume’s spine. “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

“Hey, hey,” Shisui exclaims, ignoring everything Natsume says, “Want some training tips?”

Natsume pauses, which lets Shisui come to stand beside him. The older boy smiles down at him disarmingly. It makes Natsume a little uneasy. Which is probably really sad, when he thinks about it. The first sign of kindness and he’s suspicious.

“What kind of training tips?”

Shisui presses a finger to his own lips like he’s about to shush Natsume, “Just some tips and tricks to help out a fellow tensai-chan! Trust me,” The teen says, “I’m a jounin, after all.”

Natsume narrows his gaze sharply. A jounin? At that age? It’s impressive, if it’s true. And Natsume can’t exactly prove that it is aside from taking the other boy’s word for it. He crosses his arms and puts on his best glaring face. 

It doesn’t seem to do much, which is a little disappointing. “Why? What do ya gain from helpin’ me?”

_ No one wants to help me. _ He doesn’t say.

Shisui smiles, and this time it’s a little less nice. “Because, little tensai-chan, kids like you don’t always last long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tensai means Genius, so ,, shisui is calling him "genius-chan"


	5. tastes like chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYHEYHEY thanks for all the comments ily guys

They never meet in the public eye. In fact, it’s always Shisui who finds Natsume. He’ll be training alone one second, then be interrupted by the bubbly Uchiha the next. He doesn’t know what to think. Shisui isn’t mean, but he’s certainly not kind — not in the usual way. He treats Natsume like an adult, once all the jokes are said and done. He speaks bluntly, candidly, and without remorse. 

It’s refreshing, if annoying. 

The summer sun is still blinding and hot, but at least the shade of the trees cools them a bit. As do the water bottles Shisui pushes on Natsume. The days that Shisui appears to offer training tips are random, and sometimes over a week passes between visits. The little copse by the park has become something of an unofficial meeting place for the two of them.

“They call me  _ Shunshin no Shisui. _ In terms of speed through ninjutsu, I’m practically unmatched.” Shisui says, “I’m not a heavy hitter. I prioritize speed over strength, and as a child it saved my hide more times than I can count.”

Natsume bites back a comment about how Shisui is still technically a kid. 

“You’re tiny. You barely have any muscle. There’s no way you can take down an adult without some kind of advantage or trick up your sleeve.” The Uchiha winks, “Trust me, I know how it is.”

“So you’re sayin’ I should focus on building up my speed.” That sounds doable. Probably. Seems like it means a lot of running — which, in this heat? Yikes. 

“Exactly!” Shisui crouches down, dappled light shifting across his pretty features. His dark eyes pin Natsume in place with the same odd, slightly manic energy that reveals itself in bursts. “Child geniuses have to learn how to be ruthless and underhanded. You need to pick out any weaknesses you can find and exploit them, otherwise victory is impossible.”

(Natsume thinks Shisui isn’t entirely sound of mind. It’s to be expected, obviously. Child soldiers in a world with no mental health care?)

He shifts on his feet, exhaling gustily. “Fight dirty, ya mean.”

“You do your worst, or you die.” The older boy says without pause, a grin still stretched across his lips. “I don’t recommend getting training weights just yet, but you can start with running.”

“Running.” Natsume repeats blandly. His secondhand shirt is already stuck to his back with sweat. “This ain’t some long-con t’ kill me, is it?”

Shisui just grins, “You’re so funny, tensai-chan.”

* * *

“I don’t get it.” Naruto complains, his homework spread across their low table. He shifts back and forth on his knees, elbows on the table and hands squishing his cheeks. “It makes no sense, ya know! This is too hard. Can’t we go play or somethin’?”

“No,” Natsume replies, focused on his own work. His papers are noticeably more organized. There aren’t even that many, seeing as it’s only their first year. It’s not especially hard for Natsume, he’s just about done and they’ve been working — or whatever Naruto’s version of  _ working  _ is — for about half an hour. “If ya don’t do it now, ya won’t do it at all. And then where will ya be? Failin’ class, that’s what.”

Naruto groans dramatically, tossing his head back. “But it’s dumb! I don’t need t’ know this t’ be a strong ninja, ya know!”

He loves his little brother, he really does. That doesn’t mean Naruto isn’t supremely annoying at the worst of times — and sometimes even on a good day. When Natsume wants to complete one task, Naruto is always there as a distraction. It’s not Naruto’s fault, obviously. The kid is four. 

It doesn’t change the fact that Natsume is an introvert. Is it too much to ask for just one quiet night? Just one? 

“Just try,” he mutters, tired from suffering through his overly packed schedule. “We’ll go out when I’m done with my work. Until then, try t’ get as much as ya can done. Deal?”

“Ugh, I guess…” The blond looks back to his messily written homework, balancing his pencil in one hand. They sit a few minutes more in blessed silence, and Naruto’s brow furrows as he slowly writes out a few answers. It’s clear that even with their promise, he won’t last much longer.

All the more reason to hurry up.

Natsume’s already finished with his japanese work, now all that remains is a few more math problems and some reading for history.  _ That _ he’ll do at night before bed, so he can read their textbook out loud. It’s the only way to expose Naruto to it, because the kid has no interest in cracking open a book. Not even for the Academy. If the subject isn’t immediately interesting, Naruto loses interest. 

It’s pretty much a lost cause to get him to be more academically inclined. That’s fine. Everyone has their own thing. Natsume is learning enough for the both of them. (It does make him wonder sometimes — whether or not he’d be more like Naruto if it weren’t for these incomplete memories in his head.)

“Alright.” He finally puts his pencil down after finishing the last question. The packet had only been a few pages, but overall the whole thing didn’t even take an hour. It would have taken even less time if he wasn’t stopping every five seconds to help his brother. “Done.”

Naruto lets out a whoop and rises from his seated position in a flash. His papers get knocked off the table in his hurry, fluttering across the floor. The blond ignores them, tripping over himself to get to the door and slip on his shoes. Natsume pinches the bridge of his nose and tidies the mess. By the time he has their homework put away, Naruto is long gone. The door is still open a crack.

“No sense of danger.” He mutters to himself, tugging his ratty sandals on. One of the straps on the left is hanging on by a thread. He estimates three more busy days with them before he has to purchase a new pair. ( _ New _ being a relative term.)

Naruto always goes to the same park, so Natsume isn’t too worried about finding him. He takes his time walking, dodging civilians on the street who don’t notice him. When he  _ is  _ noticed, he pretends he can’t see their scowling mouths and fearful gazes. If he keeps his eyes forward it’s as if they don’t exist, like he’s just a normal kid walking down the street. 

It’s been a few days since he’s last seen Shisui. The teenager just might be a jounin with how busy he is, and he really  _ is _ fast. Natsume isn’t allowed to use chakra, but watching Shisui use the shunshin really makes him want to break some rules. It’s only the possibility of him literally  _ dying _ that has him waiting until the academy starts chakra exercises. 

It’s not that he misses the guy — because their relationship is all give and take — but Natsume is starting to get used to talking to someone  _ outside _ of Naruto. A crazy thought. Sad, too. It wasn’t until Shisui’s appearance that Natsume really took note of how completely and utterly isolated he is from everyone else. Both purposefully and not.

He ducks down an alley, kicking up faint clouds of loose dirt. The smell of garbage is heavy, and he holds his breath until he comes out the other side. Summer’s heat is vicious. He can’t wait until fall hits — it’s ironic, really, that his name means  _ summer _ and he prefers any other season. 

Some lady shouts when he runs too closely by her. Ignoring her entirely, he relishes in the noticeable fact that his speed and stamina really  _ have  _ improved. He’s faster, little legs pumping swiftly and without expending unneeded energy. Shifting to weave in and out of the crowd is a lot easier than it had been just last month. It’s addicting, the speed. 

_ Faster, faster, faster. _

Natsume skids to a stop by the park entrance, sand and wood chips crunching under his feet. There’s a group of children running around by the sandbox, and another pair by the swings.

Naruto is nowhere to be seen.

Dread immediately fills him. Refusing to show any of his mounting panic, Natsume very carefully scours every inch of the playground. The forest just a few yards away gives him no clues from glancing observation. 

_ What the hell, _ he thinks.  _ What the hell, what the hell, what the hell. _

Naruto likes playing  _ ninja _ with whatever group of kids will take him. Generally, they end up migrating into the woods for easier hiding and evasion. For all Natsume knows, his little brother is just somewhere in the trees. Not kidnapped. Or dead in an alleyway somewhere. 

_ Focus. _ Natsume slips into the forest, his azure gaze peeled for the slightest movement. He slows his breathing and quiets his steps, moving quickly through the trees. More than a couple yards in and he still doesn’t see anyone. 

“Naruto?” He calls, sticks crunching underfoot as he walks. Dappled light slips through the branches and leaves, illuminating the bright red of his hair — foreign among the greenery. He puts a hand to a tree trunk and peers around it. A river is up ahead. It’s not more than a foot deep, more of a creek than a river and clear enough to see all the round stones at the bottom. The little clearing is empty. Naruto is nowhere to be seen and Natsume is starting to think that his little brother isn’t playing ninja in here at all. 

_ Where the hell could he be? _ Distracted at a food stall? Caught up in trouble? Trying to pull a prank? The worst case scenarios keep poking at the back of his mind, but he refuses to acknowledge them until he witnesses it happening. 

Naruto is fine. Probably just lost.  _ Naruto is fine. _

He hears the crack of a branch behind him —

A weight slams into his back before he can turn. Natsume pitches forward and only just manages to catch himself on his hands and knees. The sharp slap of the ground smarts his palms, and the shock of pain dulls his reaction time. Another hit slams into his side and sends him sprawling. Scrambling back, he manages to look up behind him and see three older boys. They can’t be more than nine, but that’s enough of a difference in age to make them seem like giants. 

He can’t believe he hadn’t heard them at all. Do they attend the academy? He’s never seen them before — then again, they  _ are  _ a few years older than the kids in his current class. None of their features seem familiar. The ringleader has dark brown hair and eyes. To his left is a boy that stands an inch taller, his hair deep blue and his eyes a smoky gray. The last boy is the shortest, with pudgy cheeks and cinnamon colored hair and eyes. 

Natsume pushes himself to his feet and glares. “What do ya think you’re doin’?”

“My kaa-chan told me you’re a monster.” Ringleader says, with all the intentional cruelty of a child. “She said you’re trash, and she must be right because you speak like it.”

The other two boys laugh; high pitched giggles that betray their age.

_ They’re kids, _ he thinks to himself.  _ Just kids. _

“I don’t have time to play with ya.” Is what he says, purposefully demeaning. And he doesn’t. He needs to find Naruto. He doesn’t give a shit about some prepubescent bullies who think they’re being cool. “So back off.”

He goes to move by them, intent on leaving the forest. If Naruto isn’t here, then he’s got to start retracing his steps. Maybe his troublesome little brother is at the park now, having just been sidetracked by something or the other. That’s always a possibility. Naruto really does get distracted easily.

“I’m talking to you!” The Ringleader exclaims, face reddening in embarrassment. A hand lashes out, and it’s only Natsume’s lightly trained instincts that save him from taking another tumble. He manages to shift to the side, a hand coming up to smack away the older boy’s arm in a quick sweep. Since he could see it, the movement seemed oddly... _ slow. _

Maybe Shisui  _ was _ good for something.

“And I’m not listenin’.” Natsume replies, keeping his voice void of care. Bullies only do what they do when it gets a reaction. The hope is that they’ll leave him alone when they can’t get a rise out of him. “I’m busy ‘n you’re in the way.”

“I’m not the one in the way, you are!” The dark haired boy grits out, and this time he attempts to use two hands to shove at Natsume. “Nobody wants you here at all!”

He manages to back up, but it only serves to take him farther away from the direction of the park and closer to the creek. He can hear it bubbling gently behind him. 

Fuckin’ hell, he doesn’t have time for this. Natsume twists his face into the most menacing expression he can. “I said  _ get out of my way.”  _ Then he takes a confident step forward and shoves the boy harshly in the side.

Ringleader stumbles into the taller boy. “Hey!”

Natsume attempts to make his way past them, but ends up having to dodge the grabby hands of the shortest boy. Unfortunately, it’s all three of them that come at him in the next moment. He barely makes it four steps away when fingers tangle in his shirt and drag him back. He hears the stitches in the fabric strain, and his heels catch on the dirt. Lashing out with his arms, he dislodges the first hands, but doesn’t notice the fist aimed at his head. 

Stars burst across his vision when knuckles collide with his eyebrow. He tries to shift into the academy taijutsu stance but someone hits him in the gut and across the face once more before he can get his limbs up, and he tumbles back to the ground. Instinctively, he lashes out with his feet when one of the boys tries to crouch over him. 

“Ow!” The boy cries out, Natsume’s foot hitting the meat of his thigh. It’s the blue haired boy. Natsume rolls over in the dirt when the boy sinks to his knees and  _ shoves.  _ With a cry, the boy falls onto his back and Natsume crouches over him, fist cocked.

Without a single shred of remorse, he punches the little bastard in the nose hard enough to feel it crack under his knuckles. A scream punctuates the air and hot liquid paints his fist. Hands pull his hair and pain lances across his scalp. He’s tossed off and a foot lands on his gut.

There’s three of them and one of him. They’re all bigger. Probably stronger. Natsume blocks the next hit and, flat on his back, puts his foot in the nearest boy’s stomach to knock the wind out of him. He’s a little faster. 

Heaving himself up, Natsume only makes it two shuffles to the side before he’s back-handed hard enough to cry out. The metallic taste of blood floods his mouth, and the crimson liquid spills over his lips. Another hand in his hair throws him further to the side and he feels his heels slip and the soft bank of the creek give. With a splash, he hits the water, spluttering and gasping. He sees wild, dark brown eyes and a bruised cheek — the Ringleader — before hands come around his neck and  _ shove.  _

He scrambles for purchase when his head is submerged under the water. Fingers dig into the flesh of the hands grasped around his throat; legs kick and fuss in a furious attempt to dislodge the weight of the boy on top of him. Natsume gags at the pressure, feeling real, genuine terror seep into his bones as his lungs burn. His vision is obscured by the violent expulsion of air bubbles and his wildly floating hair. Frantically, he gives up on trying to pry the hands off his neck and reaches up out of the water, aiming for the eyes. His hands flail at nothing, and he can’t see where the boy’s face is. Can’t even tell if his arms are long enough to reach. 

New plan. He grabs at the soft flesh of the boy’s forearms and  _ twists, _ tearing his nails across the skin as hard as he can. There’s a sound, and the boy on top of him shakes him violently under the water. Natsume gasps as his head thunks against the creek bed, draining the last of his air. His lung capacity wasn’t very impressive to begin with.

_ I’m going to die. I’m going to die. _ The thought races through his head as his vision darkens and his head throbs with the heavy beat of his pulse. He’s going to drown. He’s going to be killed by an angry child.  _ I can’t die, who will take care of Naruto. I can’t  _ — 

The weight disappears. 

Natsume is roughly tugged out of the water just as his lungs are prepared to give out. He sucks in a lungful of sweet, fresh air, hacking and coughing through it as he’s dropped onto dry land. His head is ringing and sheer terror makes his limbs shake. He gags, desperate for air, vision still blurry and adrenaline surging through his veins. Dirt sticks to his wet hands and body, smearing mud and filth across his shivering form. The hot drip of blood down his lips and chin makes itself known again.

He blinks water from his eyes.

“Did you inhale any water?” Shisui asks, his pretty face uncharacteristically serious. There’s no sigh of the other three boys.

Natsume wheezes and spits a glob of blood onto the ground. He thinks he’s two seconds away from crying. Or throwing up. If it comes down to it, he’d rather vomit. He feels sick. Words refuse to form on his tongue. Everything happened so fast. 

_ I want to go home. Where’s Naruto? I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared. _

Shisui moves to touch his shoulder. 

_ “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” _ Natsume growls, hoarse and painful. He digs his hands into the dirt and pushes himself up. It doesn’t matter if he’s scared. No one at home is going to make it better. No one at home is going to go to those kids’ parents and get them reprimanded. 

“I’m fine.” He says. “I’m fine.”

Shisui frowns, his eyes unblinking. Like a cat. “You almost drowned.”

“But I didn’t.” Natsume pushes himself to his feet without assistance and looks over at Shisui, who remains crouched. His limbs still shake. Water drips off his soaked form to splatter the ground at his feet. Mud is caked to his front, to his hands. Locks of red hair cling to the skin of his face, the usual volume gone under the weight of the water. Blood runs slick and diluted down his face to stain the collar of his shirt. He looks like a drowned rat.

_ My kaa-chan said you’re a monster. She said you’re trash. _

Natsume grits his teeth. He doesn’t have time for tears.

Something in Shisui’s expression shifts. He tilts his head in the direction of the park. “Your brother’s back there.”

Without a response, Natsume turns to leave. He wants to go home. Forgot about what Naruto wants for once, there’s no way Natsume is staying in these wet, muddy clothes. Not when it feels like he’s five seconds away from a panic attack.

“Next time we meet…” Shisui calls, drawing Natsume’s attention. “Let’s do something different.”

When he glances back, the Uchiha is gone.

* * *

Naruto holds his hand the entire way home, quiet for once in his life. He keeps sending Natsume these tense, worried looks that are endearingly obvious. Unfortunately, as cute as his little brother is, Natsume is not in the mood for anything. 

“What happened?” Naruto finally asks, when their apartment complex is in sight.

Natsume turns to him, poison on his tongue. He sees Naruto’s wide, anxious eyes and pauses. 

Naruto’s fingers clench at his own.

“I thought you got lost. I went into the forest to look for you and slipped in the river.” He lies.

Naruto blinks, “Oh,” he says, like he’s not sure whether or not to believe it, “Sorry I ran ahead.” An expression of remorse crosses his whiskered features. “It’s my fault you got worried ‘n fell.”

“No,” Natsume replies distantly. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

That night, he lays awake while Naruto slumbers beside him. As his little brother snores away in his ear, he can’t help but remember every second of the earlier events. The cold, creeping feel of water pressing at his nostrils. The weight of hands and knees pinning him into the sandy creek bed. When he shifts his arms it still feels like those rounded stones are pressing back. 

He hopes the bruises will disappear by tomorrow morning.

* * *

Natsume saves up to buy ingredients for a birthday cake. It’s not anything fancy, just plain chocolate. He likes matcha well enough, but Naruto prefers sugary-sweet flavors at the moment, as most kids do. The entire day is a village holiday, so the Academy is shut down, as are most of the stores. A day of remembrance, they call it. In honor of all those lost in the Kyuubi’s attack — which coincided with the day of their birth, funnily enough. It’s a pretty... _ odd _ coincidence, but they can’t be the only kids born that night. Natsume doesn’t know anyone else as ignored or hated as him and his brother. 

Naruto puts his sticky fingers in the batter bowl and insists on licking the spoon. It’s a bit of a mess, but at least it’s something to do. Not only is this cake for their birthday, but it’s also for the anniversary of their first year living on their own. 

It comes out a little lopsided.

They end up eating it all in a single day, despite that. No matter the appearance, cake is still cake. Cooking it was a mess, but at least cleaning it up gives them something to do. There’s a festival going on all throughout the day, but Natsume doesn’t feel very safe going out in the streets anymore. Especially not today of all days.

Something is telling him it’s a bad idea. 

The glares had been especially terrible in the days leading up to October 10th. He’s not stupid enough to think anything has changed aside from their approaching birthday. Keeping Naruto inside is a challenge in itself, however. The blond Uzumaki wants nothing more than to go out and see the festivities. 

“We’re having an  _ us _ day.” Natsume explains. “Since it’s our birthday.”

Naruto presses his fingers to the window, looking down at the crowded streets and the flashes of shinobi traveling over rooftops. “But Nacchan, I wanna see what’s happenin’ outside, ya know! It’s like a big party on our birthday!”

“But it’s not for our birthday. It’s for the Kyuubi Attack.” He pulls Naruto away from the window, willfully ignoring the puppy dog eyes aimed at him. “In here it’s just for us.”

“I guess…” 

“Come on,” Natsume pulls him over to a pile of paper placed on the ground. “I got somethin’ special.”

His brother plops down on the ground a second after Natsume does, looking at the sheets of blank paper in confusion. Beside it is a box. “What is it? Paper?”

Natsume flips the box open, revealing a bunch of crayons. “Yep. We can do some drawin’.” They’d never had crayons before, nor were they big on doodling without intent. There was never an opportunity to do so. He’d really splurged on the cake and crayons. 

(It was their birthday. They deserved it, just his once.)

“Whatta we do with this?” Naruto asks, eyes bright despite his confusion. He rifles through the box of crayons, peering at every color and laughing at the waxy texture.

“Draw.” He shrugs, “Whatever ya want. A dream. A future ya want.”

Naruto claims the yellow crayon for himself, the orange one following shortly after. Natsume settles for his red crayon, carefully shading in his hair. He himself doesn’t know what to draw — it was a bit of a spontaneous idea, one founded by the desire to create an indoor activity for his hyperactive brother. He draws himself and his brother, side by side and holding hands. The stereotypical family drawing.

Sans parents.

He eyes the crayons speculatively. Logically, based on his and his brother’s difference in coloring, one of their parents had red hair, the other blond. One parent had blue eyes — the eyes that both Naruto and Natsume inherited. The other was a mystery. Might be one forever. It didn’t sit right in his chest.

(Indigestion.)

He adds a man with bright red hair and blue eyes next to the little figure symbolizing himself. Beside Naruto, he draws a woman with spiky blond hair and uses the black crayon for her eyes. Dark eyes are pretty popular in Konoha, so it’s probably not a bad guess. Probably.

There.

He looks over his semi-stick figures, the drawing made without any form of effort. A family of four. Natsume presses his finger against the waxy crayon shading, smudging some of the father’s red hair. It’s just a daydream.

It’s just a thought.

He wonders if they were wanted.

* * *

Shisui shows up in his usual black outfit, a smirk on his face and a tanto strapped to his back. “You’re getting better,” he comments blithely, observing Natsume’s speed drills with a curious eye.

Sometimes the Uchiha reminds Natsume of a big cat; silent, graceful and menacing. There’s never been a reason to fear Shisui, but that doesn’t stop Natsume from remembering that the other boy has most certainly killed people before. The thought bothers him less every day. 

“Speed and evasion are both up.” The older boy continues, slipping into a more critical assessment. “Your reach is still poor, but hopefully you’ll do some growing.”

Fast as he’s getting, Natsume still doesn’t manage to dodge Shisui’s hand, and suffers through a fierce ruffling of his loose red locks. “Quit it.”

Shisui backs off with a cheery grin, “Your taijutsu is improving a lot...the academy style still doesn’t suit you, however. You’ll want to remedy that.” Then he preens, like he’s already done something praise worthy.

“What.” Natsume squints, “What did’ya do, Uchiha?”

“Nothing!” The older boy laughs, dark curls shaking, “Well, not yet. There’s a style I have in mind for you. I just need to see about getting the scroll for the Beginner’s Kata. That is...if you want to learn it.”

Natsume furrows his brow, kicking at a pile of fallen leaves. They’ve been meeting up for months, and it still... _ bothers _ him that the older boy is giving him the time of day. To go so out of his way, it just doesn’t make  _ sense. _ He eyes Shisui carefully. “Of course I do.”

For a moment, Shisui’s grin dims. Only for a second, though; fast enough that Natsume can almost say he imagined it. “What, no please?”

He rolls his eyes, “What’s the style called?”

Shisui hums, blinking his stupidly long lashes. “Tsunami. It capitalizes on swift movements based on flowing water, and overwhelming speed. Not a very popular style around here though. It’ll be difficult to learn without a master.” Another grin flashes over his lips, significantly brighter, “Konoha, however, has a man who specializes in taijutsu. Any and every style.”

Natsume grunts, “You say that like anyone’ll teach me.”

“Don’t be so negative!” Shisui exclaims, hands on his hips. “Trust me, Gai isn’t like that. He’s a good person. A little weird, but who isn’t.”

“You got that right.” Natsume mutters, eyeing Shisui pointedly. 

The Uchiha pouts obnoxiously. “ _ Anyway, _ I’ll get you that scroll. If we can’t figure it out, you can go to  _ Maito Gai. _ He’ll help you. Eagerly.”

With a chilly exhale, Natsume turns his gaze away from the older boy and stares down at the array of leaves once again. From the brightest of oranges to the deepest of reds, they curl as they dry out and die. He crunches a few under his feet. It’s not cool enough to see his breath just yet, but any day now they’re expecting a temperature drop. 

“Why?” 

Shisui tilts his head, dark eyes like twin voids. Or hot coals. The older boy’s lips purse and he shrugs. “You’re a child of Konoha, same as me.”

“I am no one’s child.” Natsume replies.

Shisui just smiles. “The Tsunami Style is compatible with kenjutsu.” He taps the hilt of his tanto. “Maybe if you figure the kata out, I’ll teach you a few tricks to go along with them.”

Never a straight answer, huh. At best, Shisui is mysterious. At worst — well. Natsume glances at the tanto. He can’t say the idea of learning how to wield a blade hasn’t ever crossed his mind. Using his fists is well and good, but his hands feel empty and awkward at times and more than once he’s thought how much better an attack would be with something  _ extra. _ He’d been leaning towards something like a kunai or shuriken, as Academy students start with those. But a tanto, or a full blade? 

“I’ll learn them.” He says, determined. There’s no way he’s passing up the opportunity to learn kenjutsu basics. 

Another odd flicker of emotion across Shisui’s face — then he tugs at a lock of Natsume’s hair impishly. “As expected of little tensai-chan!” 

Batting away the offending hand, Natsume scowls at the older boy. “Be serious.”

Shisui laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. The autumn air is flat, and the sky is dull with clouds. In that moment, Shisui is a dying sun. “Never.”

Natsume sighs and pretends the teenager isn’t the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend. It’s a thought he can’t afford to have. Not now. Maybe not ever. How can he, when they still hide away like their meetings are forbidden? When they never interact if not alone? Shisui is just as confusing as he’s always been, but he’s the most genuine person Natsume has ever met. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs, unable to look the teen in the eye. He’s not sure what he’s saying thank you for. The scroll, maybe.

Shisui is quiet — then chuckles, strained and soft. “You never have to thank me for wanting to keep you alive.”

_ Don’t I? _ Natsume doesn’t even try to say, knowing very well how that would be received.  _ Because the only other person who seems to want me alive is my five-year-old twin. _

He kicks a rock and turns to leave. “Don’t be stupid. And don’t forget the scroll.”

“Cross my heart!” Shisui calls at his retreating back. 

Natsume exhales and his breath puffs, visible. With his back to the older boy, it’s gotten a little colder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my boy natsu goin through it


	6. tastes like vanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which natsume is probably interrogated and maybe thinks gai's bowl cut is a Wig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all i just rlly love shisui

The Tsunami style is all fluid, quick kata that his little body can’t yet entirely do. There is a certain grace in the movements that he is still too inexperienced and clumsy for. It’s annoying to fail more than he succeeds, but as the weeks and months pass there  _ is _ progress. He learns to strike with every exhale, to draw his body up with every inhale. He practices steps that let him flow across the land like the ocean,  _ like a dance.  _ The key is speed and flexibility. He’s lucky enough that he’s both young  _ and _ kept up with his stretching, so as long as he continues and works on his speed, he’s pretty set. 

It feels natural.

Shisui grins, secretive and happy, when Natsume tells him such. 

In the midst of winter, Natsume steps into the ring during the Academy’s mock-spars. He is a good four inches shorter than his opponent, a kid with a slightly crooked nose and greenish hair. The area is cleared of snow, but the ground is frozen solid. The students elbow each other and laugh when they see the match up. Naruto is the only one yelling Natsume’s name.

“Go easy on him, Shoichi! He’s just a  _ baby. _ ” A voice yells from the crowd, and more laughter follows. 

Naruto scowls and waves his fists, “You can do it, Nacchan!”

Natsume ignores all the voices, slowing his breathing and focusing only on his opponent. He doesn’t pay attention to his classmates normally — which is a problem now, when he thinks about it, because he has no idea how the other boy fights. Going in blind isn’t ideal, but it’s a good test to prepare him for real life situations. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s still a little annoyed.

“Begin!” Takano-sensei exclaims.

Natsume moves first. 

Compared to Shisui, Shoichi is about as fast as a snail. The other boy’s arm barely comes up in the time it takes Natsume to get all up in his space and launch a jab. With a grunt, Shoichi goes skidding back. He’s taller and bigger, but he’s not fast.

Natsume adjusts his feet, ducks under a retaliating blow, and plows his fist into the underside of Shoichi’s jaw. The boy cries out as he bites his tongue, and Natsume doesn’t wait a single second. Staying light on his feet, Natsume twists to the side and dances around Shoichi’s lunging frame. A snagging foot sends the other boy tumbling to the ground as his weight and balance is disrupted. Natsume is on Shoichi’s back within a single blink, knee to the older boy’s spine. He twists an arm up and to the side, rotating Shoichi’s shoulder joint painfully.

“Ahhh!” The green-haired boy screams, his feet kicking out into the hard dirt. 

“Enough!” Takano-sensei’s voice booms across the silent space.

Natsume hops off and away, out of Shoichi’s reach. The class is silent. Naruto gapes, his fists halfway up in a forgotten cheer. The fight had lasted five seconds, took barely any of his energy, and hadn’t been challenging  _ in the slightest. _ He snorts quietly as Shoichi pushes himself off the ground with teary eyes, grasping his shoulder. 

_ Not talking a big game now, are you? _

He looks over to Takano-sensei, whose lips are bloodless and pressed in a thin line. The chunin’s eyes bore into Natsume’s own, and the emotions found there are impossible to decipher. 

“THAT WAS AMAZING!” Naruto yells, his boisterous call breaking the tenuous quiet. The blond points a finger at Shoichi, “You suck!”

The older boy growls, “Shut up, you worthless monster!”

The words make Naruto flinch back, and suddenly all the observers feel like looming mountains. It’s just Naruto and Natsume again, being judged and looked down upon. Something icy grows in his chest, bitter like poison. He hates those expressions. Every single one of them.

“Losers don’t get to say shit.” Natsume’s cold tone draws all eyes, “But by all means, bark away like a wounded  _ dog.” _

Takano-sensei snaps his fingers, looking agitated. “I said that’s enough. Make the Seal of Reconciliation.” 

Shoichi scowls heavily, face mottled red with humiliation. Natsume holds out his hand and they curl their fingers together for a brief second. It’s all they can manage before Shoichi is striding away, wiping his hand on his pants like he’s touched something foul. Natsume should have rubbed his smarmy little face in the frozen mud. He vacates the ring and stands by Naruto, who grasps his arm in equal parts excitement and comfort.

“Shoichi, go to the med-nin on staff.” Takano-sensei orders, “Next fight will be—”

* * *

“Nacchan, can you teach me?”

Natsume turns to Naruto, snow crunching under his boots. He grimaces at the harsh, icy wind slicing across his face. Though it’s only a twenty minute walk from the Academy to their apartment, his nose is already numb from the chill. “What, the taijutsu style?”

“Yeah!” Naruto says, blue eyes sparkling, “You went so fast, like bam! Bam!”

Natsume chuckles at his brother’s exuberance. “I guess so...but ya know you can’t get better at it if ya slack off. So don’t complain if you don’t see results.”

“I’ll work at it, ya know!” Naruto assures with childish glee. 

It’s not that he doesn’t believe his brother, but Natsume  _ knows _ how Naruto is. Young. Easily distracted. His interests change every week and there isn’t anything in the world aside from ramen that can keep his attention for longer than five minutes. Maybe in a few years, when Naruto is a little older and less ruled by his base emotions, that burgeoning drive will evolve into full determination. Natsume can’t blame the boy for wanting to play, for having trouble paying attention — Naruto is a  _ child. _

( _ So are you. _ )

_ No, _ he thinks to himself.  _ I’m not allowed to be. _

“Then I’ll teach you a few moves.”

And Naruto takes to as well as expected. He’s clumsier than Natsume; slower and less inclined to practice for four hours straight when the laughter of other children distracts him. Compared to last year — Naruto is, however, far more interested in becoming a strong ninja for the purpose of being  _ cool _ and worthy of the village’s acknowledgement. He works a little harder, spends a little more time training. They’ve both gotten faster, able to leap longer distances and use their surroundings to scale buildings and hop rooftops. It’s dangerous without chakra, but neither of them mind. Or care, really. 

Because it’s fun.

The adrenaline makes Natsume actually smile for once. When he’s heaving himself up over the uneven edge of a roof slat, or bounding across the tiny gaps between cramped buildings. Shinobi children move faster, better, stronger than civilian children, even without chakra.  _ They have to. _ Conditioning their bodies is the first step, and it helps weed out those who don’t have the motivation or drive to push through.

Natsume likes training with his brother. Though he’s faster and — let’s face it, better — than the blond in their current states, Naruto is an eager student. The Tsunami style suits them both, oddly enough. They’re both small and young though, so there’s no doubt that will change. While learning both speed and stealth is a good match for Natsume, Naruto doesn’t have the patience for it. Eventually, the blond will look for something else that works better with his loud, brawler personality. 

_ Maybe I should ask Shisui about that Gai person. _ It’s been quite a while since the Uchiha began showing him the kata, and soon they’ll run out of forms for him to practice over and over. Shisui only has the one scroll, because apparently the Tsunami Style really  _ is _ as rare and unused as the teen initially stated. Soon they won’t have any other choice but to go to the man Shisui hailed as Konoha’s taijutsu master — the only one who could further the style based on the kata alone.

It’s the tail end of winter and the snow is wet and melting, turning the ground into muddy slush. The temperature remains cool enough to warrant a jacket, but not much more than that. He doesn’t trust that winter is entirely over just yet — another harsh snow could be just around the corner before spring comes. Natsume puffs out a breath and leans against a barren tree. The forest is quiet, the animals long gone to avoid the cold. At his feet is a disgusting mess of slush, dead leaves and mud. His navy jacket is worn with frayed hems and his green gloves have holes in them at the pinkies. It’s not too bad. 

Shisui doesn’t spend time with him when he’s training with Naruto. He should probably feel weird about that, or at least offended on his brother’s behalf. It’s Naruto, after all, that’s so desperate for friendship when Natsume would rather sneer at anyone who comes close. But with Shisui everything felt so secretive, like what they were doing was taboo.  _ Or just between the two of them. _ Naruto has the kind of personality and wide, open heart that seeks and draws in friends like moths to a flame. Natsume does not.

He doesn’t trust easily. Doesn’t  _ want  _ to trust. And yet he has Shisui.

Shisui who might be a little cracked and rusted at the edges, who sometimes gazes at things that aren’t there. Shisui who laughs easily and doesn’t just poke the bear — he smacks it. Is it so bad that Natsume keeps this one thing to himself? Him and Naruto share everything, but maybe…

Well, maybe he can have this.

It’s harder for them to meet these days, with Naruto so eager to learn. Shisui doesn’t show up when the blond is around and Natsume never utters the Uchiha’s name. His brother has no idea that Natsume meets with another person on a regular basis. Perhaps it would only serve to make the younger brother jealous. Natsume does  _ not _ want to deal with that, and it wouldn’t even be Naruto’s fault.

(Because it really wasn’t fair, was it? That Natsume got the equivalent of a friend while Naruto struggled, even though he was good and whole and sunshine incarnate.)

So when he  _ does _ manage to ditch his brother for a few hours, he finds himself here. Waiting. Sometimes Shisui shows, sometimes he doesn’t. Today he does. It’s harder to hide in the trees when they’re barren and bleak. 

The tree he’s leaning against trembles, and half-melted snow smacks the ground by his feet. Natsume looks up sharply, greeted to the sight of Uchiha Shisui crouched on the widest branch, a grin on his pale, pretty face. 

“Hey, hey, tensai-chan! Lookin’ a bit chilly, there.”

“I’m fine.” He replies, not flinching when the teen disappears in a blur and reappears before him. “It’s not cold today.”

Shisui doesn’t say anything for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he thinks. The hitai-ate on his forehead doesn’t gleam in the dull, gray light of a cloudy winter day, but it draws Natsume’s eyes all the same. Patriotism for Konoha continues to evade Natsume, but Shisui is chock full of it. Naruto as well — the blond takes to all the propaganda with disturbing ease. Desperate for a way to fit in. It worries Natsume sometimes when he thinks about the lengths Naruto might go to make friends. 

“Hey, wanna come somewhere with me?”

Natsume blinks, assuming he’s heard the older boy wrong. They don’t  _ go _ places. “What?”

“Yeah,” Shisui nods to himself, “Yeah, let’s go somewhere.”

“Go where?” He asks, “Why? We  _ can’t.” _

Dark eyes observe him carefully, “Why not?”

Natsume presses his lips into a thin line, discomfort swirling in his gut, “You  _ know _ why.”

“Forget that. You’ll be with me.” Shisui’s hand darts out, still too fast for Natsume to dodge. A hand tangles in his coat and heaves him off his feet. Maybe it’s because he trusts Shisui — even though he doesn’t want to, and tells himself he  _ doesn’t _ — but he forgets to struggle for a beat too long and ends up perched on Shisui’s hip. 

The Uchiha is warm, running hot enough to feel even through the layers they both wear. Up close, his smile is blinding and a little too much teeth, and Natsume can count every single one of the teen’s ridiculously thick eyelashes.  _ Shisui looks tired. _

“What are you doing?!” He shrieks, his senses returning to him. Shisui’s arm is looped under him, securing him to the older boy’s side like a mother does with their child. 

“Relax! We’re gonna play pretend!” Shisui winks.

In the next moment, Natsume feels something  _ shift, _ and glances down at himself to see that his clothes have changed. Only visually, however.  _ Henge. _ He blinks at the coat — still navy — and the false quality. He looks at the gloves, now visibly dark and without holes, even though he can still feel the chilly air seeping through. 

He stares at the Uchiha symbol embroidered on the breast pocket. Shisui pinches a strand of Natsume’s hair between his fingers, snickering. It’s pitch black, the same shade as Shisui’s. For whatever reason, Natsume is quite sure the teen has given him the appearance of an Uchiha. 

“Wait, we can’t just go!” He exclaims when Shisui takes off, leaping through the trees. “Naruto is still at the park, I can’t wander away too far!”

“Don’t worry about it, nothing will happen to him. I promise.” 

Natsume grips Shisui’s shirt, torn between kicking his way out of the teen’s grip — risk of falling and all — or, Sage forbid,  _ trusting Shisui’s word. _ “How can you say that?”

“Natsume,” Shisui says, and it’s not often that he actually uses Natsume’s name, “I promise.”

He looks into the Uchiha’s dark eyes and  _ believes. _

They stop on a rooftop overlooking the market, the streets busy with the afternoon rush. When they hit the streets, Natsume struggles a little, not willing to stay perched on Shisui’s hip like some  _ baby. _ He’s five, not two, and he doesn’t need to be carried around! But the teen doesn’t even flinch, and even has the gall to grin in amusement at Natsume’s predicament. Huffing, he relents — only because he doesn’t want to draw too much attention to himself, or dispel the henge accidentally.

The villagers smile and talk with such ease, unknowing of his presence. They make their way through the crowds without much more than a few glances. It makes Natsume’s stomach curl. How can they act so happy now, and then sneer at him and Naruto at the drop of hat? They look peaceful. Kind. Calling to each other with jovial ease. He almost doesn’t recognize it — all these people are unfamiliar to him without the shadow of fear-hate-sadness lingering in their faces. Even pressed to Shisui’s side, the thud of the older boy’s heart beneath his palm, he feels...alone. Like his face is pressed to the glass and he’s peering into a world that he doesn’t belong in. Natsume turns his eyes away from the street and hides away in Shisui’s shoulder, all the while refusing to admit that what he’s doing  _ is _ hiding.

Shisui’s grip tightens for a moment and Natsume thinks he feels something brush against his hair. Maybe he imagined it. 

“Konoha was founded on the belief that children would no longer have to die.” The Uchiha murmurs, his quiet voice drowning out the hustle and bustle of the streets. “That children would be spared in war, and could grow in a world of peace.”

Natsume snorts unkindly. “And how’s that been workin’?”

Shisui chuckles, “I know, we haven’t stuck to our ideals, have we? Konoha was created for noble reasons — that doesn’t mean it reached those goals to begin with. We’ve been working towards that perfect world, slow and steady. One day Konoha will be a place of laughter and kindness, where we’re all at peace with each other. However long it takes, I know we’ll get there. It’s my dream to see it.”

“Your dream?” Natsume whispers, “Or Konoha’s dream?”

“Why not both?” The teen rebukes, his pace slowing. They enter a shop, a bell tinkling above the door merrily. 

Natsume isn’t sure what to think. He’s not like Shisui or Naruto. All he sees in Konoha are the shadows, the hate, the pain — the sneers and cold winters, the glazed eyes and scorching unacknowledgement. Shisui talks about it like it’s something to be proud of, a place he can call home. A home he wants to improve. That’s all well and good — great, even. But not once has Natsume ever considered Konoha  _ home. _ All that loyalty, that so-called  _ will of fire… _ it doesn’t exist within his brittle, bruised heart. 

Shisui greets the shop owner sunnily, a muted, mature version of Naruto. They make small talk that Natsume ignores, choosing to lay limp in Shisui’s hold like he’s asleep. He wonders what the pair of them look like. Brothers? Cousins? Is it wrong to feel a connection like that when he already has a brother? He can’t tell if he likes it, or feels guilty.

“What about your brother, Uchiha-san?” A woman, likely the store clerk, says. 

“Oh,” Shisui replies, not skipping a beat, “He’ll just take vanilla.”

“A bit early for ice cream, isn’t it? You’ll ruin your dinners.” It’s said knowingly, traces of humor in her voice. She sounds like what Natsume imagines a mother does.

Shisui chuckles sheepishly, “I couldn’t say no to him, he’s just too cute! It’ll be our little secret.” He makes a shushing noise.

The woman giggles good-naturedly, and Natsume hears the sound of movement. He pinches Shisui in the side and relishes in the hiss of breath that escapes the older teen. That’ll show  _ him _ for calling Natsume  _ cute. _ Shisui jostles him in return, forcing him to finally raise his head from the teen’s shoulder. He scowls at the sunny expression Shisui gifts him with. 

It’s a little chilly for ice cream, but Natsume takes his frozen treat without complaint. He’s never had ice cream before and he didn’t even have to pay for it, so he’s not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Once again, his gut twists guiltily at experiencing something like this without his brother — but it’s...fun. Doing things on his own. Having his own experiences. Naruto is too loud and eager to pull off the Uchiha personality. Even Shisui, who is kinder and more open than any of the Uchiha members Natsume has passed on the street, has a regal sort of  _ quiet _ to him at times. The teen is also one of the most expressive Uchiha Natsume has ever seen, which says a bit about the rest of them. 

They leave the store and walk down the street once more, Shisui’s gait leisurely. He’s obviously in no rush, seemingly content with his ice cream in one hand and Natsume in the other. 

“Put me down.”

“Hn? Did you say something?” Shisui replies, a disarming look on his face and a spot of ice cream on his bottom lip.

Natsume frowns — he does not  _ pout _ — and eats his own. Vanilla is nothing special, but it’s sweet and addicting in the way forbidden snacks are. Because of the weather it doesn’t melt quickly at all, keeping his fingers safe from becoming sticky. Despite the combination, he himself doesn’t get very cold. Shisui is like a space heater — must be all that Uchiha fire. 

“How do you feel about shinobi, Natsume-chan?” 

He looks up at the teen’s face, finding that dark gaze on him. Intent. “I don’t know. They exist.” There’s isn’t much else to it, honestly. Natsume doesn’t have any  _ good _ emotions attached to it. “I’m gonna become one. Not much ‘t say about it, really.”

Shisui hums around another mouthful of ice cream, expertly avoiding people as they walk. “What would you be, if not a shinobi?”

Natsume blinks. Maybe a long time ago he thought about it — back before he knew what needed to be done to care for him and his brother. Those inane, useless thoughts and ideas have long since been forgotten. “I don’t know. I don’t think about it.”

“No?” Shisui says, eyebrows rising like he’s surprised. “Really? You’ve never thought of being anything but a shinobi?”

“What would the point be?” He replies sharply, the waffle cone creaking under the tightening grip of his fingers. “I’m an orphan with above average competence, intelligence and maturity. The  _ Hokage  _ came to my door to inquire about my brother and I’s future plans. The shinobi life pays well, and I’m apparently good at it.” Bright, brilliant blue eyes stare into the unfathomable dark of Shisui’s, “Maybe you really think Konoha can be the place you dream of, but I’m not so sure anyone else is on the same page. Seems to me like they’re all pretty eager t’ throw a kid to the wolves if it means addin’ to their ranks.”

Shisui smiles, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual one. “I know,” he says, “But I still have to try.”

They finish their ice cream and Shisui drops him at the entrance to the park. The henge fades away in a puff of smoke, and Natsume is himself again. Shisui ruffles his red hair and grins down at him. They’re not in the shadows or hiding away in the trees — it feels odd, just being Natsume and Shisui in the open. He frowns again and bats away the teen’s hand.

“Don’t touch me with those sticky fingers,” he complains.

Shisui only laughs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “One day, tensai-chan…”

It’s silent for a beat too long.

“What?” he probes.

The Uchiha exhales, gaze turned away towards something Natsume can’t see. “I dream of a Konoha that Natsume can smile in.”

Then he disappears in a swirl of dead, soggy leaves.

_ What a ridiculous dream, _ Natsume thinks, hands trembling by his sides. He enters the park and seeks out his little brother’s familiar wild, golden hair, wiping the last traces of vanilla from his lips.

* * *

Natsume puts every student that faces him in the dirt. Even Naruto puts up a little more of a fight, but his progress pales in comparison and he gets agitated too easily. The blond is quick to fall into uncoordinated brute force strikes. Natsume lets taunts wash over him, lets them simmer in his gut and uses that rage to respond with sure, quick strikes to lay his opponent on their ass. He’s better than everyone in class and that’s not him being narcissistic. It’s a fact. 

And everyone hates him for it — which definitely lets him know that it’s true. 

Uzumaki Natsume is five years old and he’s  _ better _ than every six or seven year old in the Academy. He’s probably better than students in the second and third years, too. 

Students like to crowd around his seat whenever the teachers look away, spitting vitriol and childish taunts.  _ As if he cares. _ It affects Naruto more than Natsume, who has long since given up wanting the attention of  _ anyone _ in this stupid Academy.

“Nobody wants you here!” 

“Back off!” Naruto yells, waving his little fists, “You can’t say that!”

“I just  _ did.”  _ A little brat says, one with a plain face and brown hair. That Shoichi kid isn’t far behind, personally affronted because he’s never been able to beat Natsume at sparring. (None of them have.)

Shoichi smirks cruelly, “Why don’t you run off to kunoichi classes?”

“Why,” Natsume replies without inflection, focusing more on the book in his hands, “Do ya think I’m pretty or something?”

There’s some spluttering, and then a hand slams down on the table. “It’s because you look like a stupid, weak  _ girl _ and your hair is  _ ugly!” _

Naruto lets out a scream and launches across the desk, his knuckles making full-on contact with Shoichi’s nose. “NACCHAN’S HAIR IS PRETTIER THAN YOURS, YA LIMP SEAWEED HEAD!”

Natsume snaps his book shut and scowls, pulling Naruto back by the collar before the brawl can get worse. He blocks Shoichi’s fist with the other hand, gripping tight and glowering full force into the other boy’s angry face. “So,” he says loudly, “You think being girly is the same thing as being weak? You think  _ girls _ are weak? Is that it?”

From the corner of his eye, he can see the girls in the class start to shift. Shoichi pales when he notices the scowls directed at him.

“Yeah, what did you mean by that!” One of the girls exclaims, her black hair tied in a bun. 

“You think we’re weak, Shoichi?” Another yells, her finger pointed at the boy threateningly. “Uma-chan beat you sparring last week!”

Shoichi flushes, “I didn’t—”

It’s a sufficient enough distraction that the group of boys around their table get dragged away into an argument with a majority of the girls in class. Natsume hugs Naruto to his side, patting the boy’s sunshine hair. 

“He shouldn’t have said that, ya know.” Naruto insists grouchily, cheeks puffed in a pout. 

“I don’t let it bother me.” 

Naruto huffs, “Well that guy really  _ is _ blind. Your hair is super pretty, Nacchan!”

_ It’s odd, that’s what it is. _ No one else has hair like Natsume, not that he’s seen. The vibrant, eye-catching crimson makes him easy to spot in a crowd. Even  _ Naruto  _ fits in better! Plenty of blonds in Konoha. There were even those who were strawberry blond, their hair edging into orange hues, or those with auburn, reddish browns — but none with hair like his. It marked him as an outsider. He  _ knows _ it does. 

Sometimes he wonders if it’s  _ him _ that Konoha hates, and his brother is just being strung along by association.  _ Would it be better if I wasn’t here at all? _ He takes care not to voice those thoughts. Naruto would most certainly throw a fit.

He smiles at his brother and lets none of his dark thoughts show on his face. “Thank you, Naruto.”

* * *

Maito Gai is about twenty years old, with a bone structure that makes that difficult to guess. His cheekbones are sharp enough to blunt steel and his hair is both cut in a ridiculous style and shiny enough to look like a wig. Natsume isn’t entirely sure that it’s  _ not, _ frankly. The image is tied together by the man’s eye-searing green jumpsuit and  _ huge _ eyebrows. He is, quite honestly, the most interesting and insane person Natsume has ever seen in his life.

When Shisui points him out, Natsume thinks he’s lying.

“No,” the Uchiha mutters, a grin on his lips, “I’m serious. That’s him.”

“The taijutsu master?”

“The taijutsu master.”

Natsume furrows his brow. “You’re lying.”

Shisui shakes his head, “I really, really mean it. That’s him. Maito Gai. Cross my heart and everything.”

The training field looks demolished, the green-clad man stretching exuberantly in the center of all the destruction. He looks like he’s barely started to sweat. The raw power is impressive. The man spots them pretty easily when they approach, a hand waving in their direction. It’s followed by a bright, sparkling smile.

“Hello, my young friends!”

Shisui waves back, “Hello, Gai-san!”

Natsume purses his lips and doesn’t wave, just follows Shisui as the older boy wanders closer. A hand on his shoulder pushes him forward, and he finds himself on the receiving end of Gai’s full attention.

“I need your help, Gai-san. Natsume-chan here has learned all the beginner’s kata for a particular style. There’s nothing else on it in the Konoha archives, so we were hoping you could help tie it together into something  _ great.” _ Shisui explains. 

“Oh?” Gai beams, “How interesting! It brings me great joy to see youthful students so dedicated to improving themselves! I would love to offer whatever help I can — as a fellow Konoha shinobi, it’s the least I can do!” The man throws his head back and laughs boisterously, a series of  _ ha ha ha!’s  _ that makes Natsume think of a cartoon character. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” He mutters, dipping his head slightly. Shisui has been helping him improve his speech and manners. “I’m Uzumaki Natsume. Your help is appreciated.”

Gai jerks a thumb into his own chest, puffing with pride — or just sheer energy. “I am Konoha’s Green Beast — Maito Gai! The pleasure is all mine! Now, young Natsume,  _ show me what you’ve got!” _

He runs through the kata with careful precision, one after the other. The fluid, dance-like movements come naturally to him now. It’s soothing, almost. Everything goes smoothly and he doesn’t make a fool out of himself in front of the two men. He’s used to having eyes on him. This is nothing. 

“HM...HM...” Even Gai’s hums are energetic and mildly aggressive, his hand on his chin and the other propped on his hip. “Speed based, I see! What a  _ crafty _ style! I see, I see, I SEE!”

Natsume blinks and takes a step back when Gai throws his arms up, the image of fire blooming around him.

“I’M GETTING ALL FIRED UP! YES, I CAN SEE IT ALL NOW!” Gai poses dramatically, one finger pointed directly at Natsume’s stunned face. “Give me two weeks, NO! A week! If I don’t complete it then, I’ll run around Konoha 1,000 times! I promise you, young Natsume, I’ll craft a finished style for you!”

“....sounds good.” He mutters, more than a little amazed that someone like  _ this _ is a shinobi. A  _ jounin _ at that, who’s probably infinitely more powerful than Natsume is right now. And yet the man has more energy than  _ Naruto. _ “Thanks for doing this, Maito-san.”

“No, no, no,” The bowl cut gleams with every shake of the man’s head, “I insist, call me Gai! We are comrades, after all!”

Shisui throws him an unsubtle thumbs up. 

“Uh,” Natsume says, “Okay?”

“Come,” Gai gestures, settling into a stance Natsume doesn’t recognize, “Let us partake in a youthful spar so I may further analyze your moves!”

Needless to say, he gets his ass beat. Soundly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gai: *exists*  
> natsume: what in the fresh hell is that  
> 


	7. tastes like iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i made a [tumblr !](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)

Spring is wet and warm, the air muggy but not stifling, like it would be in a Konoha summer. Natsume and Naruto take to the streets, clad in ratty shorts and t-shirts. They’re probably going to hit a growth spurt soon. Children grow like weeds, and they are no different. It’s not that he doesn’t  _ want _ to get taller, it’s just that….clothes are expensive. Not only that, but finding a place that will let them in long enough to  _ buy _ clothes is almost impossible. At this point their wardrobes are entirely secondhand, near falling apart at the seams. Patchwork squares are sewn into the elbows of half his long-sleeves!

Naruto grips his hand as they run, dirt and dust kicked up with every step. Past the stores, until the streets begin to thin and greenery blooms more heavily across the landscape. It smells like flowers and grass — like the beginning of spring. A slim river cuts its way through the terrain, the water moving at a slow pace and glinting in the sun. A wooden bridge allows for passage over it; sturdy, but the red paint peeling. Natsume runs a hand over the guard rail and flicks flakes from his fingers. 

“Dun da dun dun!” Naruto sings, their run slowed to a walk. He moves with big robotic steps, swinging their joined hands. “Nacchan, let’s play ninja.”

“...do we have to?”

“Yeah!” Naruto exclaims, smile wobbling, “You haven’t played in forever!”

Natsume furrows his brow. He’s certain he played with Naruto just the other day. Or was that last week? It’s hard to tell, the days blur together with all the training he’s putting his body through. “Really?”

“You keep goin’ off and training!” The blond says.

“I thought training was  _ fine?”  _ He replies, “What happened to being the strongest shinobi?”

Naruto rubs the back of his head with his free hand and grumbles. “I mean, even super strong ninja’s should have fun, ya know? And ya never play with me and the others, you always go off on your own!”

“I don’t have time, Naruto.” And he really doesn’t. “Or do  _ you  _ want to cook and do laundry and learn to budget—”

“Ugh, that stuff is borin’, ya know!”

Natsume levels a deeply unimpressed look at his brother, “And yet someone has to do it.”

Naruto doesn’t look too happy about that answer, but he drops it for now. Their hands stay clasped together, so it’s not as if either of them are particularly mad about the conversation. It’s one that’s been happening more and more frequently. Naruto is a child, so of course he wants to spend time with the one person who gives him the time of day. He doesn’t yet understand the gravity of what Natsume does for him, but he does know that it’s all necessary. Their hardships are shared, after all. Naruto  _ knows _ what’s happening is unfair to both of them. He’s just not mature enough to rationalize it. 

The path to the park is lined with flowering camellia bushes, rich with budding white, red and pink hues. They tower over their short frames, wild with uninhibited growth; dark, oblong leaves are still dewy from last night’s rain. He runs a hand over baby soft petals as they pass, careful not to pluck. When the packed dirt gives way to sand and mulch, Natsume knows they’ve reached the park. There’s a few kids already there, some huddled around the sandbox and two others shoving each other at the top of the slide. 

Natsume immediately goes over to the swings, while Naruto goes off to see what the kids by the sandbox are doing. He really doesn’t know  _ why _ his little brother pushes himself to interact with other kids  _ every single time. _ That desperation for company is foriegn to Natsume, who only associates  _ company _ with fear and hate. But Naruto is nothing if not persistent, refusing to fall into the same pessimistic view as Natsume.

Some part of him is glad, actually. Naruto should always be sunny and smiling. If Naruto was more like him, Natsume wouldn’t know what to do. The very thought just...doesn’t feel right.

The swing is sun-warm and bleached from exposure. It creaks under his weight, aged but not weak enough yet to send him tumbling to the ground. He kicks back and forth lazily, staring out across the park with disinterested eyes. He could be reading right now. Or training. Or even playing ninja like Naruto asked, since he came out here to spend time with his spitfire of a brother. Yet when they reached the park, they’d separated like it was natural. 

Like even as Naruto asks, he already expects a negative response. Natsume is everything to Naruto  _ except _ a playmate, like he should be. Instead he’s a guardian, a caretaker, the person who teaches Naruto to cook and clean and brush his teeth—but never the person to let him sneak sweets, stay up late or play games with. Natsume is so busy trying to take care of them, he’s not even able to be Naruto’s  _ friend. _

Natsume tilts his head back as he swings, the wind whistling in his ears. Loose red hair spins around his head, and he stares at the cloudless expanse of azure sky above him. 

_ I wonder what Shisui is up to. _

A commotion draws his attention. Glancing back to the group of kids, he sees them ostracizing one—and it’s not Naruto. That fact alone makes him pause a bit too long. He slows his swinging.

The children start throwing handfuls of sand, mulch and rocks at the lone kid. Natsume drags his feet along the ground to stop his momentum short. The boy, and it is a boy, looks about four or so years older. His arms are up to protect his face, which portrays an expression of humiliation and fear—it’s the kind of look that never belongs on a child’s face. It’s not Natsume’s business. It’s not. It’s  _ not. _

Naruto glances around the group unsurely, looking torn. An older girl hands him a rock. The blond looks down at it like he’s never seen one in his life, then up at the boy who’s still frozen, cowering. Natsume strides forward, feeling something bubble in his gut, iron hot and freezing all at once. 

“—just do it,” he hears one of the kids say, “And we’ll play with you. He deserves it! C’mon, don’t you wanna hang out with us?”

Naruto looks down at the rock in his hand again. 

“What the hell is happening here.” Natsume interrupts, demanding rather than asking. Like hell he’ll even let his brother  _ consider _ doing such a thing.

The kids—three of them, a girl with black hair, two boys with brown—startle, not having heard his quiet footsteps. They’re all taller and older, but whatever expression he’s wearing makes them cringe away.

Naruto drops the rock.

“None of your business.” The girl mutters, regaining her confidence. “We’re not doin’ anything wrong.”

Natsume raises his eyebrows. “It looks like you’re being a piece of shit, actually.”

The shorter of the boys gasps at his language.

_ “He said a bad word!” _

“You—” The other boy gapes, his eyes dark blue and affronted, “You shouldn’t say that to us!”

“And you shouldn’t throw rocks at people, yet here you are.”

“Urara deserves it!” The girl exclaims, “My papa says people like him are wrong! He’s not made right!”

“My tou-chan says the only way to fix freaks like him is to beat it out of ‘em.” The short boy chimes in.

Beside him, Naruto’s look of confusion only grows. Despite looking completely out of his depth, he has the sense to step away from the group.

“And what,” Natsume begins, trying very, very hard to stay calm, “ _ exactly  _ does that mean?”

The girl lowers her voice, like she’s spilling a secret, “Urara likes  _ boys.” _

Natsume looks at the boy—Urara—then back to the three bullies. He lets out a sigh. “And I actually thought it was a nice day.” He mutters. Then he promptly breaks the girl’s nose.

She screams when the cartilage gives under his hit, blood streaming down her chin in seconds. Her hands come up reflexively and she starts to sob in earnest.

“Ayumi!” Blue Eyes yells, leaping to her defense. At their slow movements, Natsume can see that the three of them are civilians, which is probably why they’re ignorant as shit. He stomps on the first boy’s foot and drives an elbow into his side, sending the now-wheezing boy into the sand and gravel. Naruto headbutts the last one in the chin, and when he’s shoved away Natsume is there to take his place, driving his fingers into the last boy’s solar plexus. He drops like a stone with a violent gag and Natsume doesn’t even care enough to show restraint—he backhands the brat into the dirt. 

He’s come a long way from being too weak to face three older kids at once.

“Hey.” He says, not looking at the mess he just made. Urara blinks in reply, mouth agape. The kid can’t be older than ten, far too young to be concerned about sexuality. There’s no doubt that some people just  _ know, _ even as a child—but whether or not Urara is truly gay doesn’t matter. Homophobia isn’t tolerated. Not by Natsume, and if he has his way, not by Naruto either. The three children scurry away. He doesn’t even think to watch.

“Y-You...why’d you do that?” Urara asks shakily. He looks like every other run-of-the-mill Konoha native, tanned skin, brown hair and dark eyes. Baby fat still clings to his cheeks, and the shinobi sandals paired with the flash of fishnet mesh by his neck tells Natsume that this kid is an Academy student.

“Because who you love is nobody's business but your own.” He puts his hands on his hips and cocks an eyebrow. “Why’d you let them do it anyway? You’re an Academy student, aren’t you? These jerkwads are civilians. You could’a handled them, easy.”

“Wha—” Naruto points a finger at Urara, “You’re in the Academy, too?”

Urara swallows and sniffs heavily. “Yeah. Well. I dunno.”

Natsume eyes the way the boy is still shaking, dark eyes wet and anguished. He looks two seconds from crumbling like a paper bag. It’s none of Natsume’s business. He keeps telling himself that. It doesn’t matter to him.  _ This kid _ doesn’t matter to him. Only Naruto does. Still, he finds himself replying anyway. “They aren’t right. There isn’t anything wrong with you and if anyone needs a beating, it’s them.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Naruto jumps up and down. “Hey, you should play with us! We can be your friends! It doesn’t matter at all if ya like boys, ya know!”

Urara’s expression flickers, wavering between emotions Natsume can’t pinpoint. One of them looks vaguely like guilt. “I can’t,” he says slowly, “My parents told me not to hang out with you two.”

Naruto stills, his smile turning plastic. “Oh,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his head. It sounds hollow, “That’s okay!”

Natsume looks away. He hadn’t been expecting anything from this interaction to begin with. Urara wavers, looking from Naruto’s dimming smile to Natsume’s bloody knuckles.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, hushed and under his breath like he’s afraid of someone hearing. “...and thanks.”

Naruto grins again, a little more genuine. He nevers asks for thanks. “It’s no problem, ya know!”

He keeps smiling even as Urara walks away, picking up speed as he goes. They stand alone in the park, the sun beating down on their heads. Naruto’s happiness begins to fade a little, but he seems pleased.

“I don’t get what happened,” he admits, eyes squinting, “But I guess we did good?”

Natsume huffs a laugh.  _ Typical. _ “If you ever see someone bullying another person for who they love,  _ hit ‘em. _ ”

“You betcha!” Naruto exclaims, “I’ll give ‘em the Uzumaki Naruto beat-down, ya know! But why’d they think it’s weird?”

Natsume contemplates the question. He’s not completely sure why. He’s also not sure why he  _ knows _ it’s wrong to treat someone like that. It’s just another remnant of knowledge from his incomplete memories. “Because they’re idiots. Who someone else loves has nothing to do with you, so for them to make it their business is both pointless, ignorant and oppressive.”

His little brother nods, humming all the while. “I see, I see. Hey, what does  _ imgorant _ mean?”

“Ignorant.” He corrects, “And it’s just a fancy word for stupid.”

Naruto nods again. “Why not just call them stupid?”

“I wanted them to feel dumb.” Natsume replies without pause, stretching his arms above his head. It’s not a word some civilian children would really grasp at their age. “Really drives the insult home when they can’t even understand it.”

“Hah! You sure showed them!” Naruto crows, laughing loudly with his head thrown back. He’s completely ignoring the fact that he himself didn’t know the word either.

* * *

When thinking realistically, Natsume knows he outshines his peers in every way that matters. He’s not sure how the Academy really  _ works _ in terms of early graduation or skipping grades, but he’s sure at this point in time he could easily ace any exam they put in front of him, and he’s already wiping the floor with his entire class without breaking a sweat. The only time he feels  _ pushed _ is when he spars with Shisui or Gai-san. 

_ Gai, _ in particular, is a whole new can of worms Natsume hasn’t yet decided he wants to continue pursuing. The man is an invaluable resource, but his can-do attitude and loud demeanor grates on Natsume’s nerves more often than not. Even with their contrasting personalities, Natsume is actually hard pressed to sincerely dislike the green-clad man. Gai just has a way of slipping under your skin.

It’s a little infuriating. 

“LET US PICK UP THE PACE, YOUNG NATSUME!” The Green Beast himself yells, cartwheeling by at lightning speed. Natsume blinks at the scene with deadpan eyes. This is nothing compared to last week, when Gai did  _ the worm _ across the entire training field  _ forty times. _

He curses Shisui’s name in his head and starts cartwheeling. As ridiculous as it feels, it’s good movement practice—the Tsunami style is completely based on fluid, flexible movements after all. He needs to learn how to twist his body in every manner it possibly can. Arms, legs, torso—whatever can react  _ must _ react. The next stage is dodging blunt kunai while only cartwheeling or flipping. 

Natsume is pretty sure Gai is insane. 

But he’s a good teacher, and that’s exactly what keeps Natsume coming back when Gai specifies the next meeting time. His bruises have bruises and his muscles still ache in the mornings after, but he’s never felt more alive than when he’s twisting and dancing, heart racing and sweat flying with every spin. When he thinks about how helpless he feels walking into stores, pinned under the weight of stares and dark words—of water, and child-sized fingers—it only serves to push him to be  _ faster, stronger, better. _

Gai shows him every movement, then beats it into his body. The man is a kinetic learner, whereas Natsume has always been one for the books. But he needs to do this, so he does. After an hour of the weird training exercises, when Natsume’s muscles feel like jelly and his red hair is dark with sweat, Gai finally lets him have a break.

He catches the bottle of water that’s thrown at him, guzzling it down eagerly. The spring heat has ramped up over the past few days, and staying hydrated has never been more important. 

“You’ve been doing remarkable well, Natsume!” Gai praises, hands on his hips. He doesn’t look like he’s sweating at all. Natsume wonders what exactly makes Gai keep coming back. What makes him want to train a five year old without asking questions? No one can be that nice, can they? Gai is no Shisui.

But Gai is  _ something. _

“Thanks.” Natsume replies, for lack of anything else. He still feels like he’s not doing enough. The faster he can improve, the better. “It’s not good enough yet, though.”

“It will come with practice,” Gai insists, “You already shine brightly for one so young.”

Natsume crushes the empty water bottle in his fist, “It’s not enough yet.” He repeats. “I need to be faster.”

For a moment, Gai stares at him like he’s seeing someone else. The look disappears a second later, and Gai’s blinding grin returns. “WHAT YOUTHFUL ENERGY! Keep that determination burning brightly, and you will reach your goals in no time at all!”

“Yeah, okay.”

“GAH! What a hip and cool response!”

* * *

At the end of the first Academy year, their class is given a test. Natsume passes with flying colors. He finished the written test a half-hour before everyone else, then spends the rest of the time staring out the window, all the while ignoring Takano-sensei’s stare. The man has been paying more attention to Natsume lately, and he can’t tell if it’s good or bad. He’s not enjoying it, no matter which it ends up being. It feels too much like he’s being scrutinized. 

After class, Takano-sensei pulls him aside.

Naruto hovers by the door, looking confused and wary in equal measures. Even if they both get shit from teachers and students alike, it’s usually Naruto who draws trouble to himself. The blond has been reprimanded more times than Natsume cares to count, especially now that he’s started to delve into pranking. It’s a bit of an expensive hobby, but Naruto has  _ talent. _ The kind of talent that can translate to shinobi skills—like trapping or sabotage. So Natsume puts a little bit aside every month to fuel Naruto’s fun. It’s not like it’s  _ actually _ hurting anyone. (Not that they wouldn’t deserve it.)

Natsume tilts his head at his brother. After a moment, Naruto nods in response and leaves. He’ll probably wait on the damn swing.

“Uzumaki,” Takano-sensei begins, always detached, always using everyone else’s first name, “It’s been brought to my attention that you’re not benefitting from the current curriculum.”

Natsume doesn’t respond. That much should be obvious.

“You’re going to participate in a separate test for class placement.” The chunin continues, and the way he phrases it makes Natsume think that it’s not a suggestion—nor is it being offered as an option. He’s being ordered. Takano-sensei doesn’t look too enthused either, still unable to really meet Natsume’s eyes. The man only stares when Natsume isn’t looking. 

“When?”

“Now.” And he walks away, expecting Natsume to follow.

Natsume grits his teeth and looks down the hall, towards the door leading to the front yard. Naruto is waiting, and it doesn’t look like Natsume is going to get the chance to tell his brother about the change in plans.  _ What an asshole, _ Natsume thinks to himself, glaring at Takano-sensei’s back as he moves to follow. 

They walk in silence to the other side of the building, both their footsteps silent through the halls. He’s led out the back door, to the training grounds where they usually hold taijutsu spars. There’s another chunin there, one that Natsume doesn’t recognize. He’s got dirty blond hair and purple eyes. He looks at Natsume like he’s gum under his shoe. It immediately makes him tense, skin prickling. 

“Your written test scores make your need for advancement obvious,” Takano-sensei drones, “We just need to test your aim and your taijutsu skills.” 

For now, Takano-sensei ignores the blond man, so Natsume forces himself to do the same. He’s given a handful of shuriken to throw, and a target to throw them at. While his scores are better than the other kids in his class, he’s not entirely the best at it. His aim is fine, yes, but it’s not yet perfect. And Natsume is pretty sure he’s a perfectionist, because he’s never happy with his skills. Ever. 

He nails the bullseye from three different angles, at three different distances. Kunai are weightier, so he takes a second to adjust when he’s handed those next. He always has the desire to use them as hand-held knives rather than throw them. Every throw hits around the center, but there’s no doubt in his mind that his aim with the smaller, lighter shuriken is better. 

“Do  _ not _ mold chakra.” Is all the warning Takano-sensei gives, before jumping right into the next stage. “Saru.”

Hand seals. That’s advanced material, the kind of thing they don’t teach until second and third year. There’s no reason for Natsume to know it—nor is there any reason Takano-sensei would expect him to know it. 

Natsume forms the seal. The section of the Shinobi Library open for Academy students has all the information on hand seals. It’s not hidden in the archives or sealed away—it’s  _ hand seals, _ every shinobi worth their salt already knows them all. So it’s not hidden or even  _ coveted  _ information. It’s left out in the open for Academy students to utilize and practice. 

His fingers still feel a bit clumsy, the forms not completely natural or instinctual just yet. He’s been meaning to ask Shisui about improving his hand dexterity. Hopefully how quick he can do them won’t matter to Takano-sensei, not when Natsume shouldn’t know them at all.

“Tatsu. Ne. Tori. Mi. Ushi. Uma. Tora. Inu. I. Hitsuji. U.”

Natsume carefully does each sign as Takano-sensei says them, stumbling over Tori and U, but still managing to do them. U isn’t terribly difficult, but the placement of fingers always confuses Natsume when he has to do it quickly.

Takano-sensei doesn’t offer any praise or derision, just raises an eyebrow. “Can you mold chakra?”

“Not well.” He admits. Shisui had him do basic exercises to get a feel of it. The Academy didn’t teach chakra control until third year, to give the children’s chakra systems time to develop. Clan kids were another matter, they were trained to use chakra the second they could walk. It’s just another reason civilian kids fall behind. Three civilian-born kids already dropped out of Natsume and Naruto’s class.

It’s been difficult for Natsume to grasp. He keeps aiming for a trickle and getting an ocean. Takano-sensei just nods, as if this is to be expected. 

“Get in the ring.”

Natsume eyes the blond man, who’s looking more and more like his upcoming opponent. He steps into the ring, wary and not at all trusting the darkness still present in the man’s face. Something about this situation doesn’t feel right. Even if Takano-sensei doesn’t pay attention to him or Naruto in class, he’s never outright malicious, and he doesn’t try to sabotage them in any other way aside from lack of attention. Bringing Natsume out back to have him murdered doesn’t seem like something the man would do. Probably.

“You’re going to spar with Chuuya so we can get an accurate measure of your abilities.”

Chuuya stands across from Natsume without expression, the dark look wiped from his face now that Takano-sensei is directing his attention towards them. Natsume does his best to clear his own face of anything that could possibly give away his discomfort. They stand at opposite sides of the ring, Takano-sensei to the side. 

He raises an arm. “Begin!”

Natsume moves. He’s been practicing with two jounin, and Chuuya appears to be just a chunin. There should be a noted difference in skill—how exactly that difference translates in comparison to  _ his _ skills is what’s going to make or break this mock battle. He slides forward as if gliding, arms darting out like lightning strikes. His torso moves with each jab, twisting his body to create less space open for retaliation. Right off the bat, it’s fast. He puts his all into it immediately, and it pushes the chunin to take up the defensive.

Chuuya’s arms come up to block the strikes, his speed certainly beyond anyone else Natsume has faced while at the Academy—Gai and Shisui aside, and those two fight at a drastically lowered level so as not to completely overwhelm him. 

The chunin swipes with a leg, forcing Natsume out of his space. He follows up with a punch, and Natsume ducks to the side. The power behind the jab creates a burst of air strong enough to ruffle his hair. He narrows his eyes, that feeling of unease growing. Natsume steps, twirls and kicks up a leg just high enough for the heel to be level with Chuuya’s knee cap. The move is dodged, and when Chuuya makes a grab in return, Natsume launches in the air and spins over the man’s arm. His feet kick dangerously close to the man’s face, making him draw back reflexively. 

Natsume still isn’t strong enough to take a fully grown adult. It’s just not possible. He doesn’t have the muscles for it, nor does he have the height. His reach is miniscule because of his stature, and it forces him to get close to make hits, which leaves him vulnerable to attacks. Natsume viciously kicks off of Chuuya’s blocking forearms and flips back to land on his feet. Fighting in the air is even riskier because it limits his ability to dodge. 

_ A sword would be useful right now. Or a jutsu arsenal. _

He knows his weaknesses. They’ll be solved with time—and puberty—but since it doesn’t appear as if he’ll be able to wait, it would be best to find whatever he can to fill the gaps. Hopefully Shisui will make good on his promise to teach Natsume a few tricks involving kenjutsu. 

_ Be fast. _

He lunges forward again, not allowing himself or Chuuya a reprieve. The longer he fights, the more dangerous it gets for him. Natsume dodges three more punches aimed at his sternum, then backflips out of the way of a knee. Chuuya is relentless and so much bigger, his limbs longer and arguably more dangerous. Natsume has to swerve and fling himself up to avoid another low sweep. He plants his feet on Chuuya’s lunging arms and uses them as a springboard. The momentum sends the man’s arms down and his torso forward, making it easy for Natsume’s knee to graze Chuuya’s face. 

Chuuya looks pissed at the near hit, only just managing to dodge out of the way. Natsume tries not to smirk. The fight isn’t over yet. When he lands behind Chuuya, they both spin around and engage in a series of punches and kicks, all met with Natsume’s swerving, graceful dodges and Chuuya’s heavy blocks. 

He plants his foot in the ground and ducks under a fist, then grasps the overhead arm at the wrist. He’s not strong enough to toss the man. With the knuckles of his other hand, he makes a sharp jab directly into Chuuya’s extended elbow. 

A grunt is all the man lets out to show the pain, and Natsume is forced to leap back once more when a dizzyingly strong hit is launched in his direction. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of adrenaline and fear. He knows he doesn’t want to get hit by Chuuya, just like he knows that he can’t go on for much longer than this. Though their speed and reaction time seems pretty on par, Natsume can’t tell if the man is holding back—and Chuuya is undoubtedly stronger in the physical sense. 

They trade a few more blows, Natsume’s footwork light and fluid while Chuuya is an iron wall. Wisps of crimson dance in and out of his vision as his quick movements make his hair spin, like a bloody fan. Dodge, dodge, strike, parry. Chuuya’s fist clips Natsume’s shoulder and it sends him off course. He follows with the movement even as starbursts of pain explode across his vision. He thinks he might be getting slower. How long have they been sparring, anyway? He doesn’t dare look away to meet Takano-sensei’s eye, or even check if the man is still there. If he’s distracted, even for a second, he’ll be defeated. 

Natsume breathes through the pain, his shoulder throbbing with his rapid pulse. He tries to twist on his feet once more, but Chuuya anticipates the movement and his leg slams into Natsume’s side with full force. The blow takes every bit of oxygen from Natsume’s lungs.

The force sends him spinning away like a limp ragdoll, his heartbeat in his throat and the sound of something cracking repeating over and over in his head. The wind whistles through his ears and he hits the dirt hard enough to see spots. The pain is immense. 

He thinks he might be in shock, because his entire body feels as if there are pins and needles jamming into his skin and sound hasn’t yet come back to him yet. The hard ground is sloped and cracked beneath him, cracked like his chest feels, as the pain slips from icy to molten hot. He wheezes against the dirt. He tries to shift and the spike of absolute agony makes his vision white out. Sweat beads across his flesh instantly, soaking the back of his shirt. 

With all the willpower in the world, he manages not to vomit. The very movement would have knocked him out immediately. 

“—the fuck do you think this is?”

_ Oh, _ he thinks so himself,  _ the volume’s back on. _

“You weren’t supposed to go so hard on him!” One voice hisses. That’s Takano-sensei, Natsume recognizes it. The man’s deep voice shifts into something more professional in the next sentence. “It wasn’t supposed to get out of hand.”

“You shouldn’t have been doing this without another teacher’s supervision  _ to begin with!” _ Another voice hisses, and Natsume has never heard this one. “I’m going to fucking  _ eat you alive. _ You even look at this kid again, and I’ll let T&I use your head as a playground! Do you fucking  _ hear me _ —”

He spits out a glob of iron and pain. Breathing feels impossible, all he can manage is short, gasping wheezes. Blearily, he makes out three shapes. A few blinks clears his vision. Takano-sensei and Chuuya have been joined by another man. 

“Kid, stay awake.”

Natsume blinks again. The new man is standing over him, senbon hanging loosely from his lips. Konoha-typical brown hair reaches his chin, and dark eyes are filled with more worry than Natsume has ever seen directed at him before. He can barely breathe, so there’s no chance he can even reply. 

The new shinobi picks him up.

Natsume feels a scream crawl up his throat at the subtle jostling. The pain pulses throughout his whole body, black spots dancing at the edge of his vision. Blood slips from the corner of his lips, metallic and hot. They disappear in a swirl of leaves.

* * *

“Kid, you can’t fall asleep.”

The world blurs into hues of white and gray. Voices spin around his head like liquid, like he’s underwater and the words are bubbles he’s uselessly trying to grasp with his hands. 

“I don’t know if we can take him…”

“What?”

“It’s just...you know, we’re very busy. I’m sure he’ll heal.”

“Say that one more time, nice and slow so I know you aren’t being an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not excused. Heal him or I’m going to ruin your fucking life.”

Natsume opens his eyes. He doesn’t know when he closed them. Dark eyes peer down at him. The ceiling is white. Orange sunlight makes the man’s rich brown hair glow auburn. A set of hands belonging to a pale, trembling woman hover over his chest, glowing green. 

“N...a...S..i..”

The man leans forward, “Don’t try to speak just yet.”

Natsume shakes his head. He feels fuzzy, caught between numbness and agony. But he hasn’t forgotten. He can’t forget. There’s something more important than his pain. Something still waiting in the slowing fading light, sat alone on an old wooden swing.  _ Someone. _ “Na.r…” 

“It’s okay.” The man replies, soft in a way Natsume has never heard. “Your Uchiha has your brother.”

Natsume shuts his eyes tight.  _ It’s okay.  _ The words sound so strange. 

The pain begins to lessen. His head becomes clearer, and the scent of rubbing alcohol and extreme germ-killer fills his nose, practically singeing it. Exhaustion pulls at him as his recovery becomes more apparent.

“Who…?”

The man’s senbon dips as pale, thin lips twist into a frown. A weight settles on his shoulders, one Natsume cannot see or hope to guess at. It pulls the man’s brow low, twists those dark eyes into pools of poorly hidden regret. “Shiranui Genma.”

Natsume turns his gaze to the white ceiling. Outside, the sun is almost entirely set. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now. Numbness, mostly. It hasn’t all quite hit him just yet. Emotional pain, and the strain of the body after exercise is one thing—even his near drowning—none of that compared to the pain he’d just felt. The lost, terrorized feeling that had gripped him when he’d felt his ribs snap and his breathing become encumbered. 

He squeezes his eyes shut again, and feels phantom hands pushing him below the surface. He opens them and tastes blood on his lips, the same blood that had threatened to drown him on dry land.

“You’re not going back to Takano’s class.” Genma says.

The woman stops healing. The glow around her hands fades away, and Natsume takes in a breath. He still feels sore, tired and achy, but he can breathe. That knife-like pain is gone. He rubs at his sweaty forehead and feels disgusting. The woman leaves without a backward glance, her hands still shaking. Genma doesn’t even look at her.

“Why?” Natsume replies. “I still need to graduate.”

“You will. Sooner, rather than later. Despite the injury, according to Takano your performance easily places you at genin level. Your lacking chakra skill is all that’s holding you back from being handed a hitai-ate and shoved into the field.”

“Have you been watching me?”

Genma’s lips quirk. He doesn’t answer that. “You’ve got a year. Maybe less.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’ll take care of it.”

Natsume isn’t sure what to make of that. He can’t pick out anything important from Genma’s face or lax posture.  _ No one takes care of it.  _ Natsume is the one who shoulders all that responsibility. He doesn’t know what to think when hearing words like that come out of an adult’s mouth.

_ No one takes care of  _ me.

“I want to leave.” He demands, looking away from eyes he can’t read. “Where’s Naruto and Shisui?”

“You should stay the night, just in case.”

Natsume grips the white sheets under his hands. “No. Where’s Naruto and Shisui?”

Genma lets out a sigh, the glint of his senbon visible from the corner of Natsume’s eye. The man leans over and heaves Natsume out of the bed, arms hooked under his back and knees.

He bristles like a cat, “What are you—”

They disappear. Wind slides across his bare flesh. They’re bounding across rooftops, Genma’s steps silent and the glow of the moon deepening the shadows of his face. The senbon glows sharply under the white light.

Natsume is silent all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA GENMA


	8. tastes like defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: child sexual assault mention / situation, no explicit details. if u want to skip it entirely, "another soft cry" to "what's going on here?"

Naruto is still awake when he gets home. He can tell because the lights are all on, and he’s drilled it into Naruto’s head to  _ turn the damn lights off _ far too many times for the kid to forget now. Genma sets him down in front of the door, one hand remaining on his shoulder. It’s an odd, heavy weight. Natsume isn’t sure if it’s supposed to comfort him or make his skin crawl at being touched—and he, quite frankly, can’t tell the difference anyway. 

Inside, Shisui is at the kitchen table with Naruto, easily distracting the boy with a spread of coloring sheets and playful banter. Both of them look up when the door opens, though Naruto looks visibly more surprised at their arrival than the Uchiha. 

“Nacchan!” Naruto gasps, kicking back from the table and leaping forward into Natsume’s arms. He feels something in his chest loosen when he feels his brother in his grasp. Relief? 

He tightens his arms and feels the thud of Naruto’s heartbeat against his ribcage. Blond hair jabs him in the cheek, little hands fist in the back of his shirt. 

“You were gone for so long!” Naruto exclaims, his voice loud in Natsume’s ear. 

He pulls back from the hug, and their arms fall but don’t entirely retract, leaving them to hold each other’s hands in a loose grip. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “Sorry about that. Just a training accident.”

Naruto frowns, and over the blond’s shoulder Shisui frowns as well, though his is marginally less cute and far more menacing. “Shicchan said that. But you’re ok now, right?”

“I’m fine now.” Natsume says, and then, “Shicchan?”

“Isn’t it cute?” Shisui says, his grin all teeth. “We match, Nacchan.”

Natsume proceeds to ignore whatever just happened entirely. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yeah.” Shisui replies, his hand dropping down on Naruto’s head to ruffle the blond spikes. “We hung out a bit!”

Genma shuffles behind him, and Natsume turns to glance at the man. The jounin nods at Shisui. “I’ve got to go. You alright?”

“Of course,” Shisui says, and Natsume feels like they’re talking about something else. 

Genma glances down at him and Naruto, umber gaze flicking between the two of them. His eyes linger on their hair, oddly enough. “Watch out for each other.” He tells them.

“I already do.” Natsume mutters.

“Obviously!” Naruto chimes happily.

The senbon dips as Genma offers a smile, his hand twitching as his side like he wants to ruffle their hair. He doesn’t. He steps out and closes the front door behind him, leaving Natsume just as confused as before. Maybe even more so. 

For one, now that he’s not  _ dying, _ he can’t think of a reason why a jounin would be around the Academy to begin with. Then again—the Hokage’s Office is  _ right there, _ literally shadowing the entire Academy. Maybe Natsume is just overthinking this… Not that it’s odd of him to do so, with the way everything is. Suspicion keeps him and Naruto  _ safe. _ Trust no one, and no one will ever hurt you.

“Hungry?” Shisui asks, steering Natsume towards the kitchen. “I made dinner!”

“You made dinner?” 

“Where is your faith in me, tensai-chan?”

Naruto races back to the kitchen table, pulling himself up on the chair he’d previously been sitting in. He smacks his palm eagerly against the table. “Look at what I drew, Nacchan! This one is me and you, and this one is me as Hokage and you as the super top secret shadow commander! And this last one is me, you ‘n Shicchan! I think he’s pretty cool, for a big kid.”

Natsume listens quietly, feeling more normal as his brother rambles on. He sits in the seat closest to Naruto so he can peer at all the drawings. Shisui wanders over to the stove, presumably to fix Natsume a plate (or bowl) of whatever he made. It’s weird—having someone else in their house. Sitting at the table like  _ actual _ kids and being served dinner. The soft sounds of someone else’s footsteps, louder and heavier (and purposeful, because a shinobi like Shisui could be silent when he wanted) than their own, mixed with the eager tone of Naruto’s voice and the clack of utensils.

Under the table, Natsume’s hands curl into fists. He keeps his eyes on Naruto’s drawings, but he’s not sure he hears any of the words his brother is saying. The little caricatures of them are smiling—loopy, sloppy lines engineered by a child. Painfully innocent and endearing, yet tragic, as the sheer happiness Naruto is trying to convey for them in his drawings does not reflect their reality.

Naruto smiles, but he doesn’t smile  _ like that. _ And Natsume never smiles.

Shisui places a steaming bowl of udon on the table. He’s never had it before—it smells good. The teen sits down on the other side of Naruto, easily joining the conversation and steering some of the attention off of Natsume, who feels grateful. He watches steam curl off of the broth.

Natsume doesn’t cry. He hasn’t cried since he became  _ aware. _ The feeling lodges itself in his throat and refuses to continue. So he doesn’t cry. He just lets that painful weight swell and swell and swell. One day he will choke. One day he will crack. One day he will break.

That day is not today.

But, he thinks, perhaps the kind of crying he feels rattling in his chest would not be a  _ bad _ crying. Not now. No, it would probably be happy. He is worn and numb and aching, brittle as glass despite his veneer of steel and diamond. The agony of loneliness and mistrust swirls like spun sugar, and he swallows it by the fistful. Eager to poison rather than heal—all in the hopes that one day, it won’t hurt so badly. He’ll build up a tolerance, he’ll become immune, he’ll be  _ better. _

Shisui laughs at something Naruto says, and the blond pouts, waving a menacing fist. There is laughter in his sapphire gaze, clear as the cloudless sky.

Yes, tonight, as he hurts—he is happy. 

* * *

Naruto curls against him on their rickety bed, fingers curled around his shirt. They don’t sleep yet, though Natsume wants nothing more and Naruto’s eyes keep sliding shut.

“Ya never told me about Shicchan…” The blond attempts to whisper. “Is he who ya train with?”

Natsume flickers his gaze to the second bed, the one they certainly didn’t have when he left this morning. Shisui has his back to them, Uchiha symbol bold and stark in the light of the moon. He thinks about lying. He doesn’t. “He’s my friend.”

Naruto is quiet for a moment. “Why didn’t ya tell me?”

Because he’s cruel? Because he wanted something for himself? Because, because, because. Natsume isn’t entirely sure. “We didn’t start as friends. I didn’t...I don’t  _ want _ friends. It was an accident.”

A finger pokes his whiskered cheek. Naruto squints crystalline eyes, “Nacchan, I keep tellin’ ya it’s ok to have friends. You’re so grumpy all the time!”

Natsume doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know how to, not in a way that makes sense.

They sit in silence for a few moments, the chirp of cicadas heard even through the closed window. Natsume wonders if Naruto is jealous. If he’s sad or disappointed—

“Are you really okay?” His little brother whispers.

“Yes.” He lies, “I’m fine.”

Naruto blinks sleepily. Natsume never gets to know if his words are believed, because in the next moment his little brother is out like a light, snoring softly. How unfair it is, that Naruto never hates someone for having the happiness he himself doesn’t.

When Natsume looks past his brother, he sees that Shisui is now facing them, his dark eyes open. It makes Natsume jerk, startled. Shisui’s eyes are impossibly black, appearing endless. Dangerous. The teen’s lips quirk, his fingers resting against the sheets by his chest. They tap slowly into the fabric. “So we’re friends?”

“Don’t make it weird.” Natsume whispers back, mindful of his brother. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“No,” Shisui replies carefully. Slowly. Like he’s talking to a spooked animal. His lips pull into a smile that’s equal parts serene and panther-like, the softness of the curve not matching with the amount of teeth flashing in the dim moonlight. Shisui is all smokey lines, pitch black eternities and smooth, white planes. He looks like a devil, the kind that plies you with sweet promises from an ambrosia heavy tongue. 

There’s a murderer sleeping four feet away, sprawled like a big cat. All long limbs and wild curls, lashes casting deep shadows over his cheekbones.

Shisui blinks and the spell is broken. “It means everything.”

Natsume’s heart thumbs unsteadily in his chest. He sleeps soundly that night.

* * *

There isn’t a huge break between the end of one Academy year and the beginning of the next. It’s only about two weeks, and it’s so that the poor chunin dealing with the little shits can get the paperwork ready for the next stage in the murder school curriculum. Natsume takes the chance to spend time with Naruto and Shisui.  _ Together. _

It’s odd at first, because Natsume is used to holding them to separate standards. He has alone time with Shisui and alone time with Naruto, and putting them together means making room for a third person. Naruto has no trouble carrying the conversation with the Uchiha, who very easily identifies as an extrovert as well. It’s not...awful. They can distract each other while Natsume walks beside them, quiet. It’s almost a relief, actually, to not have to completely invest himself in the conversation. He doesn’t have near enough social energy to keep up with either of them.

They don’t wander around Konoha together. They stay in secluded areas like the park, or one of the many sprawling forests. Shisui will bring them snacks and Naruto will cling to his leg like a limpet, desperate and glad that someone is paying attention to him. 

Natsume can’t even bring himself to feel bothered that his time with Shisui is being intruded upon. His brother’s smile is too bright, and Shisui treats both of them well. 

“This is my cousin, Sasuke!” Shisui grins brightly, patting a struggling dark haired boy on the head. 

“I’m Natsu—”

“I’M NARUTO, YA KNOW!”

Sasuke is their age, with adorably chubby cheeks and androgynous features. His hair has a slight blue tinge to it in the sun and sticks up in the back, like feathers. Like all Uchiha, he’s pale and his eyes are as dark as the pits of hell. 

Sasuke is a little whiny, a little spoiled—and clearly desperate for attention. He’s a bit like Naruto in that way. But only a bit. That aside, they get along like a house on fire, both outspoken and energetic and fully willing to drag Shisui, or even Sasuke’s brother Itachi, into playing with them. Sasuke also, for about the first week of them meeting to play, thought that Natsume’s name was just  _ Natsu. _

By then, it stuck. And Natsume isn’t overly worried about it. The only person who doesn’t call him a nickname is Itachi, who very politely calls him  _ Natsume-san. _ Itachi is…quiet and tired and serious, but he’s clearly Shisui’s best friend. So Natsume does his best to remain just as polite back. Even if Itachi isn’t as open around them, even if Itachi sometimes glances a little too sharply at Shisui.

Natsume isn’t sure what to make of it. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or not. Maybe he’s paranoid, or maybe Itachi really  _ doesn’t  _ like them. It’s weird. Everything is weird.

A few days before the second Academy year is due to start, he finds himself sitting at the base of a tree. Sunlight dapples the ground, the chirps of songbirds echoing in the treetops—the heat has picked up, and sweat beads along his forehead. Sasuke and Naruto are a few meters away, playing in the sandbox. They’re at the same park where Natsume beat up those homophobic little brats. Neither of them have seen the group since. 

He feels tired, the heat making him sleepy. The taste of sweat-salt lingers on his tongue when he licks his chapped lips. Bright vermillion strands cling to the damp back of his neck. 

“Here.”

Natsume looks to the side to see Shisui standing there, a water bottle slick with condensation held out in offering. He takes it, fingers immediately damp from the chilly liquid clinging to plastic. Shisui sits beside him as he gulps down the water in a single go.

A hand pulls at a strand of his hair. 

“Hey.” he grumbles, side-eying the teen.

Shisui smiles back winningly, pale fingers twirling the bright red locks. “Why do you hide away? You have nothing to do but play, and you don’t even try.”

Natsume sighs quietly, watching the two other boys play. “I don’t feel like it.” 

“You don’t feel like it, huh?” Shisui repeats quietly, tugging gently once more on the hair between his fingers. “Sounds a bit lonely.”

“It’s not.” Natsume replies, tilting his head. Shisui’s fingers brush his cheek. “You’re still here.”

Midnight eyes blink, laser-focused. Shisui smiles again, then his other hand comes up and brushes something into Natsume’s hair. He reaches up and feels the softness of flower petals. A camellia, one plucked from the bushes lining the path to the park. 

“Like I thought,” Shisui says, “White suits you.”

Natsume scoffs, folding his knees under his chin and pressing his smile into the fabric of his shorts. “Don’t be stupid. It’s too...”

“Too what? It goes well with your hair!” Shisui exclaims.

“My hair?’ Natsume replies dryly, smacking Shisui’s hand away. “The same hair that marks me as an outsider, you mean?”

“Don’t say that,” Shisui knocks his knee against Natsume’s. “I think it’s a beautiful color.”

Natsume hears a lot of things about his hair. Taunts from classmates, scoffs on the street—his brother is the only one who ever compliments it. The red hair that marks him as an outsider, the red hair that is all he has from his parents...whoever they are. He wants to be proud of it, and maybe he is. It’s a lovely color, the kind that stands out, that draws eyes. He’s a beacon of fire and blood in a sea of green. 

“Be proud.”

He glances sharply over at Shisui, wondering not for the first time if the teen is some kind of mindreader. “Now you really are being ridiculous.” He plucks the flower from his ear. “And this flower is useless. White? The color of innocence? We both know this village will destroy every last bit of that.”

Shisui can only grimace, the smile sitting awkwardly on his face. He takes the flower from Natsume’s clenched fingers, smoothing over the creases. “It won’t be like that forever.”

“You’re an optimist.”

“You’re a pessimist.”

Natsume rolls his eyes. “What else would I be?”

“Natsume,” Shisui replies, tucking the flower back into Natsume’s hair. “Of the Uzumaki, with hair like a red camellia.”

The stalk of the white camellia brushes his hair. Natsume can’t bring himself to adjust it, just lets the weight sit, tangled in his hair. “Why are you so obsessed with this flower?”

“I just think it has a lot of great meanings. Every color. It’s too bad they won’t bloom for much longer.”

Natsume glances out past the park, to where the flowering bushes are. They still look healthy and whole to him, if a little less clustered with pretty blooms. They shift from reds to whites to pinks indiscriminately. He doesn’t know what a camellia stands for, or what different meanings the various colors hold. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He has no time for soft, delicate things like flowers.

“What do you mean?” He still finds himself asking. “We’re still mid-spring.”

Shisui tilts his head back against the trunk of the tree, sun spilling across his body through the gaps in the leaves and branches like liquid gold. “Camellia’s are winter flowers. They don’t bloom in the summer.”

* * *

When Natsume goes back to the Academy, he’s not placed in the same class as Naruto. He’s directed to a new classroom and has to deal with the weight of his brother’s sad blue eyes on his back, watching him walk further and further away. Even if Natsume hadn’t been moved up, they likely wouldn’t have ended up together anyway. Naruto is repeating the year. He’d failed the final test, which landed him in a class with a new bunch of kids. The only difference is that they were all only a year older now instead of two. 

Even though it’s unlikely, Natsume still hopes Naruto has a chance to get along with someone. To make a friend—sure, his little brother has Sasuke, but Sasuke isn’t joining the academy until next year, as per the norm for their age group. 

He sits alone in a new classroom, with children aged twelve or almost twelve. He’s given no help to catch up. The new sensei is a chunin woman with ( _ shocker _ ) light brown hair and greenish eyes—the kind of green that reminds him of swamp water. She doesn’t really interact with him much, but she doesn’t outright ignore him like Takano-sensei had. That doesn’t matter to him. At this point, he doesn’t  _ need  _ the Academy. He still scores exceptionally high on all his tests, and finally feels challenged during spars. 

He grows and grows and grows, tearing through every barrier they set down in front of him. There are no friends to be made, even though Shisui told him to play nice. Children ferment in jealousy and spit fire and poison in his face, humiliated by the idea of a kid half their age and size beating them.

Which he does.

“Here, try it with a bunch of leaves.” 

Shisui sticks leaf after leaf on Natsume’s tan skin, obviously amused. For a while, the leaves simply fall from his skin or burst into ash, the force of his chakra igniting the fragile foliage. 

“You’re improving,” Shisui insists. “You just have a lot more chakra than most.”

Natsume purses his lips, breathing deeply. Getting aggravated does nothing to help with his already shoddy control. “There’s no way I can form a bunshin with control like this.”

“Your henge is impeccable though,” Shisui replies, clapping him on the shoulder. It knocks all the leaves from Natsume’s arms.

He scowls at the Uchiha.

“Oops.”

“The henge is easier because it requires more chakra.” He picks up the leaves and presses them back to his skin. “Small details, subtle genjutsu for scents, shadows and glint of the sun off hair—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re a regular ol’ genius.” The Uchiha mutters, a smile peeking from the corners of his mouth. His eyes go soft, and he rests a hand on Natsume’s head. “I’ll figure something out for you, okay?”

Natsume looks back, wondering when he let the Uchiha climb so close to his heart. Because for all his pessimism and terror of letting anyone in, he trusts Shisui. “Ok,” he replies. “Now let go of my head, your obsession with my hair is starting to get really concerning.”

* * *

“I’m going to the library.” He announces, crouched in the entry of their apartment. 

Naruto grunts from his position on the couch, struggling with some of the homework once again. “Kay.”

Natsume has no doubt that the second he leaves, Naruto will immediately stop trying to work and head right to the park. Despite this, he slips his sandals on and heads out into Konoha. It’s still mid-morning, on the one day of the week they don’t have classes. The streets are bustling with shoppers and pedestrians, all of whom scowl at him as he passes. Ugly sneers wrinkle mouths, brows draw low over eyes—he’s accustomed to it by now. 

The day is flat and gray, clouds covering every inch of the summer sky. It’ll rain in a few hours by the looks of it. In the darkest parts, orange flashes of heat lightning brighten the clouds for split-second intervals. He cuts through an alley, hopping over a few stray boards and holding his breath as he passes a dumpster. Halfway through, he hears a noise that sounds a bit like a cry. It stops him short. A few steps back is a door, one that probably leads into the back of a store and serves as a convenient way to remove trash. 

Another soft cry.

Natsume silently presses close to the door, the wood cool beneath his cheek. 

“...op...lea…” 

He frowns. There’s no reason for him to be concerned. It’s none of his business what’s going on behind the door—it might not be anything bad. He takes a step back. 

It doesn’t explain the odd feeling in his gut. He knows there are people behind this door. Knows it like he knows the garbage behind him is definitely housing spoiled milk. It eats at him, the weird, terrible feeling.

He puts his hand on the knob and carefully,  _ quietly _ cracks the door open. It’s not locked, which is a mistake all on its own. When he hovers by the crack, he sees a dim room filled with shelves and cabinets. What looks like unstocked produce and store items fill the space. It’s undoubtedly the backroom of a convenience store or restaurant. 

“Stop, stop, stop—” Is repeated in a frail, defeated voice. It sounds like a little girl. 

Natsume’s eyes adjust and he sees a man on the ground, hovering over a small body. Their clothes are in disarray, and the little girl’s face twists the side, her tear tracks glinting in the faint light. 

He sees red.

Without a sound, he’s inside. His hand latches onto the man’s haori, and it obviously startles the piece of shit. He’s an older, balding man with a poorly kept beard and silver eyes. His face pales when he turns to see Natsume.

“W-What—”

Natsume punches him right between the eyes. It sends the man reeling back, and he has no time to prepare for the next volley of attacks Natsume unleashes. A nose breaks, a cheekbone gives under his fist, an orbital bone cracks. The man topples to the side and off the girl with a wet yell. His flailing arms are dodged. Natsume plants a foot against his solar plexus, then follows it up by grabbing a retaliating arm, twisting it sharply and snapping it against his hip. The elbow bends at an angle it’s certainly not supposed to, and bones eject from the man’s skin in a spurt of blood.

A scream of agony fills the air, but no mercy blooms in Natsume’s heart. He reels his foot back and slams it into the man’s bloody, broken face. It sends his head sharply into the floor with a crack, and the man goes limp.

Natsume steps away from the body and turns to the girl. She sits on the ground, shivering. Her hair is dark purple and sticking to her sweaty face, her brown eyes bloodshot and teary. Snot slips down her chin and a bruise is blooming across her pale cheekbone. Her kimono is open, spilling down her frail arms. She doesn’t move when he approaches, staring with blank eyes at the unconscious, bloody man just a few feet away. 

Natsume closes her kimono and reties it. She looks at him, hands shaking and lips moving but unable to form words. 

“What’s going on in here?”

The girl startles, and Natsume whirls around with an arm out to block her weak frame. He’d left the back door open in his rage, and now a man stands there, his body backlit by cloudy gray. Pale skin, dark hair and a chunin vest with a police patch—it’s an Uchiha. For a moment, nobody says anything, and the Uchiha scans the room. His face tightens.

“You should get out of here.” 

Natsume narrows his eyes. “Why.”

“Because you’re not particularly well liked, and I don’t need you complicating this case.”

“But there  _ will _ be a case?” He pushes. He doesn’t care that he doesn’t know this girl. No child deserves that, and the man in a bloody pile should rot in jail. Or die. Did Konoha have the death penalty? They must, being a military state. 

Uchiha sighs, “Yes.”

Bile sits heavy in the back of his throat. He can’t even imagine what the girl behind him is feeling. Had he not stopped, or chosen to keep walking, he’s not sure if he’d ever be able to forgive himself. Tightening his hands into fists, he nods robotically. 

When he takes a step forward, a hand tangles in his shirt.

“Wait!” The girl croaks, “W-What’s your name?”

He puts a hand over hers, gently removing it from his ratty tee. “Uzumaki Natsume.”

“I-I’m—”

“Kid,” The Uchiha interrupts, standing over the bloody man, “In a few seconds there’s gonna be a whole crowd.”

“You’re really just letting me go?”

“No one in the Uchiha Clan would dream of touching you. Now scram.”

Natsume gives the girl a quick glance, then bolts from the room to return to the alley, those words ringing in his ears. He doesn’t know what excuse the Uchiha will give, or if the man will even tell the truth about what happened. All he does know is that he doesn’t want to be in a room full of shinobi that don’t like the look of him.

He bursts from the alley onto the main street, dodging a few people as he continues to sprint. People yell out profanities or reprimands but he ignores them all. It seems incredibly lucky that an Uchiha Police Officer was close enough to hear—then again, he  _ had _ left the door open, and the piece of trash he’d been beating the stuffing out of had screamed quite a bit. At the steps to the library, he finally comes to a halt. He’s not even winded, but his head still feels dizzy and his stomach rolls. 

When he glances down at himself, he sees that his shirt is splattered with splotches of blood. His fists are stained with it, rusty flakes spiralling to the ground when he tries to wipe them. A quick henge takes care of his unkempt appearance, but suddenly he has little desire to go into the library. He can barely remember why he’d wanted to come to begin with. 

Something about chakra exercises? 

He wanders into the building without much thought, the situation slowly hitting him. In the moment, it’d happened so fast—too fast, almost. It seems like just a second ago he was pressing his ear to the door, and now he has a man’s blood on his hands. It’s gross. Vile.

Violent.

He curses the shinobi lifestyle but finds himself right at home in the heart-pounding state of adrenaline that comes with a fight. The steady climb to power feels like he’s spitting in Konoha’s face.  _ Look at me. Look how far I can go. And I didn’t need you at all. _

The rows of books tower over him, and he walks right to the section about chakra. There’s hundred of books to parse through, many just variations of the same exact advice. It’s hard to weed through the bulk of it to find interesting tidbits. Not much of it helps with his issue of just plain having  _ too much chakra. _ There’s more books on the opposite—how to  _ improve _ your chakra stores. 

He stares blankly at the spines of whichever books meet his eye level. His brain hurts. There’s no guilt, because the man deserved all that and more, but it’s the ease in which he slipped into violence that...prickles. What exactly is he turning into? Or maybe he’s been this way the whole time. He has, hasn’t he? Vindictive, cutting, quick to fire back at just a step further. 

_ I had to be. I  _ have _ to be. _

He presses his forehead to the shelf and wonders just who exactly is winning this silent war. Him? Or Konoha? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can we talk about shisui . . .


	9. tender heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit timeskippy ya feel ? ?

Their birthday is warm. Not in the usual sense, because it’s October and the air is more frigid than it had been last week. But warm in the way hugs are, in the way the gooey center of a cookie is when it’s right out of the oven. It starts with Shisui appearing in their house in the early hours of the morning, making an astounding amount of breakfast food. It leaves them with leftovers to store away in the fridge. Naruto tangles his fingers in Shisui’s shirt and pretends he’s not on the verge of tears, pretends he’s not scared of moving even one inch away from the teen’s side. 

“I’m not going anywhere!” Shisui laughs, but he indulges Naruto, swinging the boy up in the air like he weighs nothing at all. Their silhouette and the ringing laughter spilling from Naruto’s mouth makes Natsume’s chest hurt. It’s just a dull ache, however, like a bruise. Tender. He thinks love must be like that. Tender and painful, like purple to green to yellow galaxies under the skin.

Natsume loves Naruto. Loves him more than anything else in the world because even if Natsume has nothing at all, he has Naruto. Always. His little brother’s sticky hands and kicking feet, his cover-hog nature and loud snores. The bright, matching blue eyes and starshine hair, his blood on fire—must be, because Naruto is the sun and he burns brighter and brighter every day. Demanding attention in any form he can get it, leaving trails of wrath and laughter in his wake. 

Natsume takes the bento Shisui prepares, and the weight feels foreign. Even though he’s walked everyday with a bento under his arm. Even though he cooks all the time. But that’s just it— _ he _ didn’t cook this. New hands crafted whatever’s within, new hands with new emotions and new intent. It makes him nervous. Makes him a little sick to his stomach. 

He’s never eaten food prepared by someone else. Not unless you count the orphanage and their bulk meals. 

He’s never eaten food prepared by someone else  _ specifically for him. _ On his birthday of all days. Shisui never intended for it to be a gift, but it feels like one all the same.

And later, when Naruto is running around with Sasuke—smiling on his birthday, laughing on his birthday,  _ not alone in the house with Natsume on his birthday _ —Shisui gives Natsume another gift. A training bokken. 

He wraps his cold fingers around the heavy wood, marveling at the craftsmanship, at the fact that it comes in a child size. One in a line of many for all of Konoha’s little child soldiers. Shisui smiles like nothing is wrong, eyes sparkling like he’s done Natsume a favor. He puts a blunt weapon in a six year old’s hands and the image seems natural.

Natsume doesn’t look at him for too long. He stares at the shine of the sanded, polished bokken. In the end it’s nothing but a glorified stick. A strip of wood. He’s the real weapon, the one with hands to drench in blood. Shisui is teaching him how to be a weapon, and expects Natsume to be grateful. 

“What do you think?” The Uchiha asks, “Doesn’t feel too unbalanced, does it?”

“It’s perfect.” Natsume replies, and means it. “...thanks.”

Shisui looks pleased. “I’ll teach you a few tricks. But you can’t hold a real one until I’ve approved you. Alright?”

“Alright. I look forward to it.”

He means that, too.

* * *

Shisui gets Naruto a plush toad. It’s bulbous and neon orange and Naruto refuses to let go of it for about four hours after the fact. It becomes a bedtime staple.

(“His name is Froggy-san, Nacchan!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a toad.”

“What’s the difference?”)

* * *

Gai gets him training weights, the beginner kind. Also child-sized. He grins his usual megawatt grin, teeth sparkling and waves crashing. Natsume takes the weights and wonders how the man smiles when stores sell things to strengthen the muscles of children not even a decade old. Wonders how a man with a heart of gold can live so incredibly, entirely,  _ completely _ in the moment that he doesn’t question or think of the consequences. 

Natsume doesn’t blame him. 

Gai lives and breathes the same Konoha propaganda as Shisui, has given his life and time, his blood and sweat and tears to it. The man would die in a heartbeat for a village that only concerns itself with churning out replacement bodies. 

(Die if you must, but die for the village. There will be someone to fill your shoes.)

Gai covers himself in bruises and scrapes until he grows newer, tougher layers of skin and emerges as an entirely new person. He doesn’t blink when he bleeds, never wavers when his skin is purple or red. 

Natsume lets the man beat him into the dirt, spits his blood and sweat into the soil. But never his tears. He needs to be strong like Gai, strong enough to weather any pain. The next time a bone shatters under the force of another, he wants to be able to get up. He  _ needs _ to be able to get up.

* * *

He hasn’t seen Shiranui Genma since  _ that _ time.

He tries not to think about it.

* * *

Natsume finds he’s starting to like winters. The cold is a pain in the mornings, but a blessing when he’s hot and sweaty after a long afternoon of training. His skin is damp and steaming under his collar, his breath fogs the air before him. 

Training with Shisui is harder now with the bokken, and Natsume’s arms ache more than they ever have before. He’s been pushing himself harder and harder, feeling some odd terror in his gut—some odd, lingering expectation that his time is running out. Time with Naruto, time as an Academy Student, time before he’s sent out to spill blood into Konoha soil and feed the crop. 

At his age, Shisui was already out in the field, knee deep in gore and sharingan spinning, memorizing, murdering. The Uchiha had a clan at his back though, a training regime that began the second he could walk. Natsume didn’t have that. He’s considered a ‘late bloomer’ in prodigy terms, if only because his access to resources had been stunted. 

Natsume wonders exactly how many civilian-born or clanless shinobi that can be coined as  _ prodigies _ are  _ still  _ left in the dust because of the drastic gap in education. He can’t bring himself to dwell on it—because they just might be the lucky ones. Overlooked and allowed to escape the shinobi lifestyle. Allowed to put their genius minds to work in a field they’ve chosen for themselves. 

(Or they might be the unlucky ones, drafted into service with promises of grandeur and success while they’re young enough to be naive and trusting. Pulled from the street and killed too young, far too young, because genius or not, the difference between them and clan kids is far too wide a gap. They’re playing catch-up with half a deck, while clans give their kids all the cards they’ll ever need.)

Sometimes Natsume wonders exactly what drew Shisui to him—if it really was just the connection of  _ prodigy _ that dangles between them. Suspicions dance at the edge of his thoughts in the early hours of the morning when he’s just waking or when he can’t fall asleep. He never grasps them fully, always lets them slip through his hands like the soft shadows brought on by a dewy, blurry sunrise. He doesn’t  _ want _ to think about it.

Shisui smiles at him, helps him, isn’t afraid to ruffle his hair or swing Naruto up on his hip. He laughs and teases and cooks and remembers their birthday. Natsume doesn’t care anymore if Shisui had a different reason to approach him back then, when he was four years old and working himself too hard in the explosive heat of a Konoha summer, alone and alone and alone—

He’s grateful.

Because when Shisui is around, Natsume isn’t the parent, isn’t just  _ the older brother. _ He’s a kid, and for the first time  _ he can relax. _ Just a little. Just for a moment. Then he goes right back to being in charge and raising Naruto.

(For a moment, he’s allowed to be a little brother.)

“Again!” Shisui calls, setting himself back into position. He’s got one arm behind his back as a handicap, a bokken of his own held out with the other. 

Natsume meets him blow for blow, dancing with every swing and light-footed step. They’re two blurs, moving at a speed far beyond the norm for a mere genin. The thunderous clack of their bokkens colliding shatters the stillness, again and again and again. Every hit that Natsume takes bruises his flesh, red upon purple upon yellowing and faded. 

The speed is exhilarating. Their sparring makes his heart pound, makes his blood sing—violence and sheer energy thrumming through his veins. The sharp bite of iron coats his tongue, from exertion or a split lip, he can’t tell. The adrenaline blocks out all pain, pushes him to react, to keep fighting, to  _ win. _

“Aim low,” Shisui instructs, “Slice tendons in the leg. Carve out a kneecap. Cut off the toes.” 

He teaches Natsume how to fight dirty. He teaches Natsume how to survive in a world where his enemies will be bigger and taller for years to come. Natsume is made to study anatomy scrolls and memorize where the best places to cut are. 

“Femoral artery,” Shisui drags a finger over his own thigh. His grin sharpens like a kunai, “Groin. Best area to aim for to get someone to retreat faster than you can say  _ Castration!” _

Natsume learns where to cut when he wants to kill, where to cut when he wants them to bleed, where to cut when he wants to torture. An artery will bleed out a person in seconds to minutes, major organs can be struck or avoided depending on trajectory. 

He goes to sleep at night with Naruto snuffling in his ear and dreams of blood spurting from faceless bodies.

* * *

“Are you happy?” Gai asks, reeking of sweat and unapologetically brimming with energy. 

The sun is too bright and Natsume’s feet feel numb from the cold, slush soaking his shoes. He doesn’t like looking at Gai too long. It feels painful, almost. “Why do you ask?”

“Your drive is impressive—as is your intent to succeed no matter the odds.” The jounin replies, “I see bits of myself in you! Why, back when I was just a tyke who could only do five hundred push-ups—”

“Gai-san.”

“Ah! There go my youthful thoughts, distracting me again!” Gai curses, clenching his fist like he’s made a grave error. The man points an expressive finger at Natsume, “WHAT I MEANT TO SAY WAS—there is much fire within you, young Natsume, but at times I do wonder; which direction is your blazing spirit headed? What is your dream?”

Natsume tilts his head, carmine locks spilling across his sweaty, chilled cheek. “What does a dream have to do with happiness?”

He swipes a hand across his running nose and watches a bird soar across the wide expanse of cloudless, cerulean sky. Both Gai and Shisui are idealistic, believing in dreams and bright futures. Natsume doesn’t like to dwell on  _ dreams _ because he doesn’t have one and can’t afford to. His future is not his own, it’s whatever Konoha decides to make of him. What’s the use of dreams when you have a life like that? It’s better to focus on the here and now. 

Naruto. (That’s Natsume’s future.)

Gai crouches beside him in the slush, gleaming and far brighter than the sun Natsume squints against. “Why, everything! When a dream is achieved, that’s when we are happiest.”

_ (I dream of a Konoha where Natsume can smile.) _

“We’re shinobi, Gai-san.” Well, Natsume is  _ almost _ a shinobi. Semantics. “We fight and we die. Dreams are for people with plans to die of old age.”

Gai smiles even wider, and Natsume pretends he can’t see it. “Dreams, my friend, are for everyone. We may be shinobi, but perhaps that is why we of all people must live as if we  _ will _ die of old age. Dream of a great future, Natsume! For then we have hope in our present, inspiring us to keep moving forward even when the odds are stacked against us!”

_ Shinobi are those who _ — “Endure.” Natsume whispers. 

Gai nods eagerly, smacking Natsume none too gently on the shoulder. “ENDURE! SO YOU MAY SEE THE NEXT DAY!”

_ What a load of garbage, _ Natsume thinks, shoulder smarting and feet sliding in the unstable mush of wet, melting snow.  _ What a load of military-grade propaganda. _

He’s not proud to be a shinobi. He’s not running full tilt towards some bright, shiny goal. He’s not even interested in serving his country for his pride or his  _ people. _ All he wants is to protect Naruto, and to earn enough money so he never has to worry again. If he’s strong, no one can spit on him. No one can push him around or call him names or pretend he doesn’t exist. If he’s strong, they’ll have to pay attention to him, they’ll have to watch him—he doesn’t even care if it’s out of fear. 

Gai is eager and sunny and full of impossibilities. He’s not good at hiding his emotions—likely doesn’t dare try. Sometimes he looks at Natsume like he’s not even there. Instead he’s seeing someone else, a shadowy figure that Natsume can’t even begin to guess at. He’s not sure he wants to. He just wants Gai to see  _ him. _ Uzumaki Natsume, in the flesh.

Even when people are looking, they’re not really looking.

Only Shisui sees him—only Shisui meets his eyes and doesn’t replace Natsume with another. Man or monster or whatever—he’s only ever been Natsume, why can’t they see that?

(Whoever that truly is.)

“Are you happy?” Gai repeats, too big for his skin, for this world, for death and darkness and pessimism. 

“I don’t know.” Natsume replies honestly. He doesn’t feel much these days at all.

* * *

The day after a fierce snow storm, Naruto comes back from playing without his scarf and with bruises peppering his skin. He grins with all his baby teeth and throws a hand behind his head sheepishly. 

“Who did this to you.” Natsume asks, low and quiet and without expression. It doesn’t sound much like a question.

“Just some bullies, ya know!” Naruto exclaims, his tanned fingers twining with Natsume’s own, like he can soothe the beast that is his brother with the slightest touch. “They weren’t bullyin’ me, though! Some girl with weird eyes. I taught ‘em a lesson they won’t forget.” He sniffs, “They just got a few hits in, but I had ‘em running, ya know!”

“Did you?” So he’s a  _ little  _ skeptical. Sue him. Naruto is known to embellish things, fights especially. “And don’t call her eyes weird. That’s what a bully would do. Say  _ unique _ or  _ cool.” _

“Yeah, yeah! I totally did!” The blond nods rapidly, shaking half-melted snow from his hair and onto the floor. “Oh, okay. I mean, they were pretty cool! Kinda familiar actually... Her name’s Hinata, though! She said she had somethin’ of yours.”

Natsume squints, wondering why the name sounds vaguely familiar. He can’t quite grasp the memory, however. “Did she mention what?”

Naruto hums, brow furrowed. “A scarf?”

“A scarf.” Natsume repeats carefully. A distant, blurry memory forms—snow falling, the moon high in the sky, the cold biting his toes and fingers and Naruto racing hand in hand with a little girl. Her features have faded with time. “Oh, the girl with the angry dad. I thought  _ Hinata  _ sounded familiar.”

For a moment, Naruto’s face scrunches intensely. Clearly signifying intense thought. Then it brightens, like a lightbulb flashing in his brain. “Oh! I think I remember! Mean dad girl! She lived in that big, rich people house!”

It’s probably been about two years since then. Natsume is surprised that Naruto actually  _ does _ remember anything—he’s even more surprised that the girl, Hinata, does as well. And still has his scarf. He didn’t think either of them left a big enough impression on her.

Unless she isn’t shown kindness often, much like them. Thinking of the fuzzy images of an angry father make him inclined to agree with that train of thought.

“I said we’d meet her in the park tomorrow.” Naruto says, shaking the last of the snow from his hair. They’ll have to mop it from the floor.

Natsume sighs, “I guess.”

* * *

Hinata is pale, skin almost as white as the snow that surrounds them. She’s dressed in fine, thick clothes that are very telling of her financial status. Her hair is a pretty shade of dark indigo, short enough to brush her rosy cheeks. Like Naruto said—her eyes are  _ different. _ Lavender, light enough to almost make her eyes look like pools of milk, and without any visible pupil. 

She bows to him and presents a scarf he’d long forgotten about. 

“Thanks,” he says awkwardly, wrapping it around his neck for lack of anything better to do. “I’m Uzumaki Natsume, by the way.”

“Hyuuga Hinata.” Is her quiet, stuttering reply. She wrings her hands nervously.

“Hey, Hinata-chan!” Naruto holds out his own hand, “Wanna play with us?”

Hinata swallows, her cheeks burning brightly. She seems to shake, whether from cold or from nerves. “Okay.” She says, and takes Naruto’s hand.

He brightens, azure gaze shimmering, lips parting in wondrous glee. His hand tightens briefly around hers, his glove ratty and falling apart, hers intricately stitched and expensive. They couldn’t be more different.

She looks at Naruto like he holds all the stars in the sky. It makes something in Natsume settle, the suspicion receding slightly. Enough for him to see the two for what they really are—two children playing in the snow.

“Nacchan!” Naruto calls, smiling with blistering heat. The sun where Hinata is the moon at his side, all soft light and timid happiness. 

For once, he doesn’t run away and go off alone to read or train. He joins them in the snow, newly returned scarf warm and heavy around his shoulders, small tears clumsily stitched with care by a child’s fingers.

He buries the faint curve of his lips in the fabric and lobs a glob of snow at Naruto’s head, nailing his brother. A war cry is sounded in return, and soon snowballs fly between the three of them—faster and harder than those of civilian children.

It’s….fun.

* * *

Naruto and Sasuke turn everything into a competition.  _ Everything. _ Including trying to get their older brothers to play with them. Shisui, as honorary big brother, is perfectly eager and happy to do so, glancing smugly in Itachi’s direction when Naruto hangs off him like a monkey. 

Itachi, who emotes about as much as a rock when it comes to anything aside from Sasuke, is not impressed. But he doesn’t seem impressed by much to begin with whenever Natsume and Naruto are around. Natsume is trying hard not to take it personally.

_ Trying. _

Itachi isn’t cruel. He’s just quiet and overly wary. He’s kind in a detached way, like he’s going through the motions rather than putting much thought or intent behind it. Natsume wonders if he’ll end up like Itachi one day. Unable to grasp emotion normally because of childhood trauma brought on by being a soldier at five. (Because that has to be it, right?)

He looks tired a lot. There are stress lines gouging deep furrows under his eyes—the kind of stress lines no eleven year old should have. His eyes are just as dark as Shisui’s, but not near as kind. At least, not when directed at Natsume. It’s easy to see that Itachi doesn’t know what to make of him. It’s like they’re balancing on an invisible string.

Waiting.

For what, Natsume doesn’t yet know. 

“He doesn’t like me.” He grumbles one day, when it’s just the four of them and no Itachi. 

Shisui blinks, crouched in the snow beside him and watching Sasuke and Naruto try to shove each other into snow banks with unfocused eyes. “Hm? Itachi?”

Natsume doesn’t reply, just crosses his arms and lets out a gusty breath.

Shisui’s attention sharpens, “Why do you say that?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

The Uchiha huffs. “Yeah, okay, so he’s not the friendliest. Doesn’t mean he hates you. He’s just got a lot on his mind recently.”

Anyone with working eyes could see that. Natsume keeps his gaze on his little brother, focusing on the foxy grin and sound of childish laughter. “He looks at me differently.”

Shisui’s hand wraps around his arm, fingers pressed into the plush fabric of Natsume’s winter jacket. Obsidian eyes blaze like hot coals, “Never like that. He doesn’t look at you  _ like that.  _ He doesn’t think you’re a monster, Natsume.”

Natsume scowls. “That’s not what I mean. You  _ know _ what I mean!” 

Dark lashes flutter over cold-flushed cheekbones. A monster recedes back under pale skin. The panther slinks back into the shadows. Shisui smiles disarmingly, “You know, you’re too much alike.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not!” Shisui laughs, “Really. You’re too much alike. It worries him.”

_ That’s not reassuring. _ Or much of an answer. Natsume assumes it has something to do with the fact that they’re both considered  _ geniuses.  _ Prodigies. The perfect little child soldiers willing to throw it all away for their little brothers.

“Why?”

Shisui turns his eyes back to Naruto and Sasuke, gaze soft as he observes the childish innocence in their chubby features. “I don’t know.” He lies.

* * *

In the spring, Natsume graduates.

* * *

“I failed on purpose,” Naruto whispers to him in the quiet of the night.

Natsume pretends he didn’t know. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Naruto continues, his cornflower blue eyes wide and soft, the outline of his face fuzzy in the moonlight. “I wanted to be in the same class as Hinata-chan and Sasuke, ya know.”

“That’s good,” he replies, the blankets tangled in his fists. “Then you’ll have friends.”

“...what about you? Will you have Shicchan?”

Natsume smiles softly, endeared, “I’ll be fine.”

* * *

His classmates leave the room in groups of three. Some are eager, sweaty-palmed and jumping out of their skin; others are stricken with nerves, shaking and fidgety. They look like children, bright-eyed and still round with baby fat. 

Natsume sits alone, smaller and younger and missing four baby teeth. He’s the odd one out here, the one child not placed on a three man squad. His name hadn’t been called. But he passed.  _ He did. _ To celebrate, last night Shisui cooked them all dinner. Naruto switched between quiet with jealousy and loud with excitement, his moods cooled by Shisui’s easy interfering. The teen even gifted Natsume with new clothes, the kind  _ truly  _ meant for shinobi.

Black, knee-length shorts with secret pockets in the linings. Mesh leggings to wear underneath, and a mesh long-sleeve to wear under a blue, short-sleeve hoodie. The weights Gai gifted him are still strapped around his shins and forearms, also serving as arm and leg guards. He barely takes them off these days; when he does, it feels like he’s so light he could float away. He’d even been gifted a brand new kunai pouch, and shinobi-grade sandals that actually fit. All well-made.  _ All more expensive than Natsume could afford. _ Him and Naruto don’t have the money to support both of them  _ and _ buy shinobi gear. If Natsume were a crier, he would have burst into tears after receiving the gifts.

So now he’s waiting here. Suffering the laughter and side-eyes of bratty twelve year olds because he doesn’t have a team. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have a team. He has a hitai-ate tied around his left bicep.  _ He’s a shinobi of Konoha now, a Genin. _

A genin.

Thinking about it too long makes his heart leap into his throat. 

“Uzumaki.”

He looks up. 

A slow, familiar grin greets him, senbon clicking against teeth. “You’re with me.”

* * *

Genma takes him out to a restaurant. Natsume hovers just behind the man, trepidation in his gut. He’s prepared to be thrown out or confronted, but that never happens. Genma slinks into a booth with a lazy sort of grace, one brow raised in expectation. 

There’s nothing Natsume can really do but follow. He pushes himself up into the opposite booth, feeling impossibly small as his chin hovers just two inches above the edge of the table. The restaurant isn’t especially busy, but he’s already seen more than one customer send him a look—some curious, others incensed. The atmosphere is surprisingly warm, not unlike what Natsume assumes a true home is like. The tables are all Hashirama wood, the lighting bright and tinged with gold. Pretty tapestries in reds and oranges hang around the walls, some emblazoned with a symbol Natsume recognizes from his textbooks. 

The Akimichi Clan. 

Natsume has never been inside one of their restaurants before, never even tried to enter. He’s always been too wary of shinobi-owned businesses, not trusting the power they held. Not after Chuuya. 

A waiter comes, heft on his frame and a roundness to his face that’s softened even further by the kind smile he wears. Natsume doesn’t speak when the man greets them and leaves menus at the table. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It doesn’t.

“It won’t bite.” Genma says, gesturing to the menu. His lips are curved like he’s amused, but his eyes remain cautiously blank.

Natsume picks it up, frowning. “What do I call you? Sensei? Shishou? I assume you’ve been tasked as my instructor and I’ve been entered into a formal apprenticeship.”

“Sensei is fine.” Genma replies, fingers tapping quietly against the menu. It remains face-down on the table. He hasn’t looked at it once, which probably means he comes here often and already knows what he’s planning on ordering. Perhaps he’d even spoken to the staff ahead of time about Natsume’s presence.

He still remembers the angry, curt way Genma spoke during the  _ incident. _ Even delirious with pain and in shock, Natsume doesn’t think he ever heard anything clearer. Genma is odd. He’s not like Gai, who spills  _ youthful _ energy from every pore and saves cats from trees without prompting. He’s older. Elusive. The type who enters Natsume’s life in flashes, never for long and never stating his reason. Natsume doesn’t know a damn thing about him, aside from the fact that Genma’s willing to threaten others for him. 

A fact that is wildly concerning because Natsume  _ doesn’t understand why. _ The only thought that goes through his head is that Genma must  _ want _ something. But what? Natsume has nothing to offer. He’s a poor orphan with too much on his plate to play mind games.

“Shiranui-sensei.” Natsume tests, shaping the name very carefully on his tongue, “What exactly is happening here?”

“We’re eating lunch.”

Natsume presses his lips into a flat line. “No, really?”

Genma smiles, senbon held still in his teeth. “Really, really, kid. You look like you could use a good meal. And this is the perfect opportunity to get to know you.”

Information gathering.  _ Now _ they’re getting somewhere. “What do you need to know?” 

“Suspicious little thing, aren’t you?” Genma mutters, one brow raised. He continues without waiting for a response, “Likes, dislikes. Dreams of the future. That kind of thing. We’re going to be working together for a bit, so it’s best that we learn to get along.”

_ Again with dreams and futures. _

“I like training, reading, and my brother.” He begins, flicking his gaze to the side. It’s best to stick with general, basic facts. He’ll acquiesce to Genma’s attempt at civility, but he’s not looking to make friends with the man. “I dislike most of everything else. My dream is not so much a dream as it is a practical goal. I want to provide for my brother and earn enough to support the both of us.”

“Admirable.” The jounin comments, voice contained. The senbon twitches. “Not very personal, I noticed.”

“I don’t have time for frivolity.” Natsume mutters, heels clicking together softly. There’s a patron that’s been staring his way for the past few minutes. It’s putting him on edge.

“Frivolity.” Genma repeats, soft and incredulous. An expression blooms across his face—almost too quick to make out. Humor. Amusement. “You’re somethin’ else, kid.” He leans forward, putting his elbows on the table and shifting his weight. The senbon slides from one side of his mouth to the other, umber eyes half-lidded and heavy with sneaky, patient intent. Clever in a way you never see until it’s too late. A yawning maw that threatens to snap shut; drawing him closer and closer.

(This man is more dangerous than he appears.)

“So,” Genma begins, “What do you know about fuinjutsu?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr!](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)


	10. bruised heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Chadwick Boseman.

As a genin, he can purchase his own materials now. No more dull training kunai and shuriken, no more restrictions in shinobi stores. The hitai-ate around his bicep is the equivalent of a license—to kill. It also lets him in bars, shady parts of town, and the frontlines of a battlefield. Right now he needs to fully stock up with brand new materials, both standard packs and customized items to further his specific training intentions. Konoha is vast and sprawling, far larger than most people from outside the village ever realize. Miles and miles and miles wide, hosting well over forty training grounds, at least twelve clan compounds, over sixty massive neighborhoods—spotted with forests, waterfalls, fields. There were about ten shinobi supply stores scattered around, the closest one being about five miles from their apartment.

Living in a civilian sector really sucked. 

First order of business when he saves up enough money? Moving to a shinobi district. It would mean better accommodations—better locks, trapping opportunities, soundproof walls, privacy seals—and best of all, no civilians.

Back to the materials.

The shop is discreet and nondescript, there’s no real signage aside from a family name. He’s never been here before. The standard kunai and shuriken he’s been using to train are the same ones he received at the start of his tenure at the Academy. Those were provided by the State, anything more was up to you to purchase, and no replacements were offered. If you lost or broke them, you had to buy new ones on your own.

He slips inside. There’s no bell to signal his arrival. The interior is far larger than expected, the storefront deceptive. There’s a counter over to the right, a man seated behind it and leaning back against the wall with a paper in hand. He seems absorbed in reading, not even glancing up at Natsume’s near-silent entrance. There are racks along every wall, displaying a variety of weapons from smallest to largest the further into the store you go. Rows and rows of shelves are spread symmetrically across the floor, large and sturdy and clearly made of Konoha wood. Each one is heavy with materials, from boxes of miscellaneous items to piles of scrolls to kunai pouches in three different shades of beige. The floor—scuffed, mismatched wood—is a minefield of stacked books and baskets of shinobi-grade gloves, shoes, or nail polishes at every turn. 

Natsume has a list of what he needs, as told by Genma. The jounin had been very serious about it, and Natume can appreciate his new sensei’s intent to properly educate.

Genma’s slow drawl echoes in his ears.  _ Skipping so many years means you miss a lot of the little things, Natsume. And those little things can be what makes or breaks you in the field.  _

It smells like the musk of books and the sharpness of metal, like tree sap and leather. He wanders through the aisles, still small enough to walk right under the hanging nets and baskets heavy with scrolls, backpacks, and bags of caltraps, gunpowder or poison.

The thing about being a shinobi—it’s more expensive than one might think. Especially at the start, or if you’re stuck in the genin corps for a long time. D and C ranks don’t always cut it if you’re trying to cover the cost of living  _ and _ replenishing your arsenal. It was even worse for those who had to provide for their family. Sure, a great deal of genin stick it out in the genin corps and hope to be promoted to chunin for better opportunities, missions and benefits, but others turn in their hitai-ate to return to civilian life for better paying jobs. 

Konoha pays its shinobi well,  _ as long as they rise up the ranks _ . The goal, after all, is to push more and more to higher ranks and bolster their main forces. 

Natsume isn’t sure the stipend he and Naruto are given is enough to cover the cost of all that he needs. It’s probably why genin are given teams and D Ranks that don’t require materials or survival packs—so they can earn enough money to buy all that they’ll need down the road. As an apprentice, Natsume doesn’t get that chance. Natsume, as Genma had explained, will be subject to training excursions and simulations. He’s receiving  _ individual  _ training, and while it’s meant to further his abilities and speed along his education on a level befitting a prodigy, it also holds him back in some ways. Fewer missions at the start equals small or nonexistent paychecks.

In his pocket is a wad of ryo. It burns against his thigh and leaves a conflicted feeling simmering in his gut. The money is from Genma.  _ A gift, _ the man had said. Natsume is prideful, but he’s not stupid. If someone gives him money, he’s not going to turn it away. 

He picks a dark gray travel pack off one of the shelves. As every shinobi has their own specialties and quirks, there isn’t exactly a  _ standard _ for what is and isn’t necessary. So he attaches a dark blue bedroll to the pack, and throws in ninja wire and sensitivity seals for simple traps. For nail polish, he settles on clear—though he’s tempted to pick up a bottle of matte black. A new set of shuriken and kunai find their way in, as do basic camping and antidote kits, three more sets of mesh armor, an ink set and horsehair brushes. 

Blank Sealing paper is the last item on the list, but when he locates it between the towering aisles, it’s all strung up in a net hanging from the ceiling. Even on his tiptoes, it’s out of his reach. If he were taller—older—it wouldn’t be a problem. The scrolls hover over him mockingly. He scowls up at them, cursing his own pride. There’s no way he’s going to even try asking the guy at the counter for help. He’ll get these scrolls himself or he won’t get them at all—

A hand reaches into the net and plucks out a thick scroll. Woodpine and ginger fills the air, subtle and thoughtless. Confident. Natsume leaps to the side almost instinctively. He hadn’t noticed the man at all, which is either a testament to the man’s skill or a failure on Natsume’s end—or both. Dark skin and even darker hair, the kind that grows thick and springy, sitting somewhere between curly and spiky. It’s tied back in a high ponytail, giving Natsume a perfect view of sharp, coal black eyes ringed with amber and three deep, wild scars cutting across the man’s face. They’re eye-catching and pale against the brown of his skin—the injury had clearly been painful and severe. Civilians might see it as unattractive, but it only adds to the rugged sort of handsomeness the man possesses. Dark circles hang heavy under those piercing eyes, the faint lines of stress putting his age at somewhere in his early thirties, if Natsume had to guess. Stubble grows dark along a sharp jaw, flaring into a goatee beard at his chin.

Without a doubt, he must come from a Clan. The collection of features seems incredibly familiar. Natsume can feel it in his bones.

The man is slouching, the scroll held leisurely in his hand. There’s a loose, lazy air to him, conflicting with a  _ slippery  _ protective feeling. Like the rainbow kaleidoscope of oil over water, as beautiful as it is harmful. Like the deep, fuzzy shadows between strips of light that spill through horizontal blinds. Like the feeling you get when it’s just you and the moon, laid bare under the ethereal light of a sphere built of stars and dust, a field of grass under your flesh and the coo of summer sounds in your ears.

(It’s dark, but Natsume is not afraid.)

“Thanks.” He grits out, taking the scroll from the man.

“No problem.” Is the reply, and the voice is as if the forest and earth could make sound. “Fuuinjutsu, huh? Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Natsume says again. He doesn’t ask for a name and he doesn’t give one in return. They part ways and Natsume doesn’t look back once, even though he feels eyes on the back of his neck. He thrusts his bag up on the counter, the contents fit to burst. 

The cashier barely looks at him, but he doesn’t try to overcharge Natsume or deny him change. He pulls every item from the bag and adds up the total, then shoves them right back in without much care. That’s fine, shinobi-grade items aren’t made to break and bend so easily. One item catches Natsume’s eye. A book. Thin and small, like a short novel. He never picked up a book. While the cashier is handling the money, Natsume pulls the book into his hands.

_ Clans of Konoha and Beyond. _

It’s a tiny thing, as it doesn’t contain incriminating details or secrets. But it offers a short history of every Clan in Konoha, and details of others that populate the Land of Fire. Crests, symbols, awards and honors...it’s also rather old in appearance. Very unlike the other informative books or guides the store has to offer. It almost looks out of date—which would potentially make it obsolete, or a hand-me-down.

_ Or something else entirely. _

Natsume drops the book in his bag and hefts the whole thing over his shoulder once more. He pockets the change and doesn’t say a word to the cashier, who doesn’t say anything back. 

Natsume looks around for the man with wildness in his soul, but there’s no one else in the store.

* * *

“You have to sit still.” Natsume scolds.

Naruto pouts, his bare toes wiggling. His toenails are half painted with bright orange, the edges a bit sloppy with his frequent fidgeting. By his side, Sasuke is deep in concentration, his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as he carefully applies a layer of polish to Hinata’s toes. Her own are lavender, a few shades off from her eyes. Sasuke’s will soon be coated in plain black. Their fingernails are done already—after Naruto found Natsume halfway through painting his nails, the blond had been adamant that he and his friends also paint their own. Hinata was the only one with nail polish, so she’d run home and back with her little hands filled with various bottles of different shades. 

The polish they were using wasn’t made for shinobi. Natsume’s is clear, scentless, and meant to protect the nails from chipping and breaking. Hinata’s is civilian made, the pretty kind that flakes under pressure and smells like chemicals. He wonders what it must be like, to be able to afford frivolous items just for the sake of having them.

Natsume carefully paints each of Naruto’s toes. They look mostly alright, with just a few smudges. Either way, Naruto is happy with the outcome. The blond smiles wide enough to stretch his cheeks and wiggles his toes.

“Don’t move around so much.” Natsume warns. “They need a few minutes to dry.”

“You’re so messy...” Sasuke rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice in his voice.

Hinata giggles a little, curled in on herself while watching Sasuke’s work over her knees. Her cheeks turn rosy every time Naruto gives her even a fraction of attention. For a snot-nosed kid, she’s pretty alright in Natsume’s book. Sasuke a little less so, but only because the combination of him and Naruto is incredibly grating to deal with for anything longer than an hour. At least with all three of them here, Hinata provides a soothing presence that contains the worst of the boys’ behavior. Not that she can’t be a troublemaker too—Natsume knows for a fact that the girl has been the mastermind of a few pranks.

“Hey, lemme do yours next!” Naruto scoots over on his butt, mindful of his still drying toes. He makes grabby hands in Sasuke’s direction.

The Uchiha makes a face as he pulls away from Hinata, finished with the last coat of polish. “Yeah right! After the mess you made of Hinata’s fingernails, I don’t trust you with a brush at all!”

“I’ll only get better with practice! C’mon, lemme do it! Lemme, lemme, lemme!”

“I said no! I don’t want to walk around with messy polish, it’s embarrassing!”

“Don’t be a stick in the mud—”

“Don’t be an idiot!”

Hinata watches them go back and forth, her lips pressed together and trembling. Though her fists are curled against her knees, there’s very little fighting spirit within her.

A gusty sigh escapes him. He rocks on his heels and reaches out to pinch Naruto and Sasuke’s cheeks, stopping them mid argument.

“Ow!

“Nacchan!”

“Boys,” he says in his best no-nonsense voice, “Let’s not argue anymore, alright? You’re worrying Hinata.”

Both of them glance over at the girl, who looks embarrassed at the attention. She looks down at her knees with flushed cheeks, brows pinched together. The two boys look vaguely chastised, looking around awkwardly without meeting the other’s eyes. 

“Naruto, if someone says no, it means no. Ultimately, when it concerns someone else’s body and life, they’re the ones with the final say. You can’t bulldoze through other peoples’ wants and desires just to get your own.” Natsume makes sure his little brother nods before releasing the grip on his cheek. Naruto rubs at the pinkened flesh and pouts, but does not resume badgering Sasuke.

“I’ll do your nails, Sasuke.” Hinata pipes up, offering a tenuous smile. 

The dark haired boy grunts, shifting back towards her on knobby knees. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Don’t worry,” Natsume murmurs to his little brother, who watches with slightly sad eyes as his two friends interact with each other. “You can learn how to steady your hand. And even if you don’t, you’ll have Hinata by your side to help you.”

Azure eyes shine, like sunlight over still water. Naruto sniffs, all foxy grin and narrowed gaze; he looks happy. Natsume feels an ache in his chest, black and curdling like spoiled milk. It’s not entirely jealousy that he feels—no, not really. How could he, when he’s seen how desperately Naruto craves attention and friends and people? But a twisted part of him watches how his little brother swells with light and wonders— _ why wasn’t I enough to make you shine like this? _

* * *

The little book is aged and yellowed. Well loved, which Natsume can’t relate to. It’s not a deep, long read. In truth it barely takes an hour to skim through it all and learn bits and pieces of the history of Konoha’s Clans. Most he already knows. The Senju, with their healing ability and scattered wood release. The Uchiha, with their sharingan and fiery natures. (Everyone knew of the two Clans who founded Konoha.) The Akimichi, Yamanaka and Nara were also mentioned briefly—just the name of their Clan techniques and a little backstory as to how they found their way into the village. It was actually some years after the Sarutobi Clan, which is interesting, as the other three hold more prestige in the village—even if the Sandaime Hokage is a Sarutobi. The Inuzuka, Hyuuga, Aburame and Hatake are mentioned as well. 

Natsume hasn’t ever heard of the Hatake, and he can’t remember ever seeing the Clan symbol around the village. It looks like a basic grid, probably mimicking the  _ field _ that the name stands for. 

_ Probably extinct. _ He thinks, because that does happen. The Senju are basically disbanded, those with any remaining blood ties being so distantly related that they barely count. It’s a Clan that’s moved on and lost their prestige over time, even if it barely took a century. If there are Senju remaining who still wear their Clan symbol, Natsume hasn’t seen them. Plenty of Uchiha, though. 

It’s dark out, the late night sounds trickling in through the open window. Crickets and the hum of electricity, cicadas and tinkling chimes being blown by a summer breeze. Naruto snores quietly on the other side of the room, splayed haphazardly across the shuriken patterned sheets. Half of his blanket is kicked off his bed, the moon’s soft glow washing out the brown tones of his skin and painting him in shades of blue. 

Natsume glances back down to his book, the words pale against the old parchment they’re printed upon. It’s hard to read in the faint ambient light, the glow from the outside street lamps not doing much to help. He traces his finger up and down as he reads, keeping track of the kanji so he doesn’t lose his place. 

In the back of the book, at the top of one of the last few pages, is a name.

His name.

Not his first, but his last. The very same characters he used to carefully trace with markers back in the orphanage, until his fingers were stained with ink and piles of paper took up space under his cot.

Four characters. He can see them in his sleep because they are all he has of himself, the only things that belong to him.

Uzumaki.

Though his eyes ache from squinting in the low light, he feels energy come back to him and all his pains fade away as he stares at the pages before him. They’re short and sweet, just as the others.  _ The Uzumaki were allies of the Senju, _ the book explains.  _ Konoha’s Sister Village, Uzushio— _

_ Red hair and incredible chakra. _

_ Shodaime-sama’s wife— _

_ Destroyed in the Second Great Shinobi War— _

Natsume traces and traces until he feels as if the ink will bleed off the page and coat his fingertips, sink into his skin and enter his bloodstream. Maybe it will curl around his heart like a viper, and fill the holes. Instead it feels like more are created. His heart is a perforated organ, struggling to beat under the strain. 

He doesn’t understand it, really. 

Konoha, the brave. The great. The village to unite all villages and clans. That which claimed the Uzumaki as their family, as their greatest allies—

(Had lied.)

The night offers no answers. He’s left to sleep in his confusion, wondering what the truth is. Wondering who  _ he _ is.

* * *

The rhythmic sounds of his wooden Bokken colliding with the target echo his heartbeat. It thrums through his body, shaking the very flesh from his bones. The weight of muggy summer air and Genma’s gaze lay heavy on his back. Sweat dampens his shirt and beads at the base of his skull, sticking to crimson strands. The tendons in his jaw feel as if they’re about to pop, teeth grinding uncomfortably together with how tense he holds himself. The bitterness of salt coats his tongue. 

“Alright,” Genma mutters, “What is it?”

Natsume doesn’t reply at first, though he stills in his movements. The Bokken hangs frozen, his arms trembling. His sensei trails around him until they’re face to face, motions soundless across the grass. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Judging by the incredulous look in the man’s eye, Genma doesn’t believe him for a second. “Yeah, okay. Did something happen?”

“What makes you say that?” Here’s to hoping that the man will take the hint and drop it. Natsume himself doesn’t have an answer yet. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling anymore. What he  _ should  _ be feeling. It’s just...a tangle. A ball of yarn lodged in his throat. He can’t decide if he wants to swallow or choke.

“Your eyebrows do a thing.” The senbon shifts. A hand gestures useless at Natsume’s tense expression.

“My eyebrows.” He repeats carefully. Interesting. He has a tell. “Have all my tells figured out already, do you?”

Something complicated passes through Genma’s gaze, “Something like that.”

With no other information forthcoming, Natsume allows himself to lower his arms and let the Bokken rest at his side. Calluses have formed, thick and tough, across his palms. Though his hands are slender and long, they will not be pretty. They’re a worker’s hands. A murderer’s hands.

He forces his face to relax. “What exactly are my eyebrows telling you?”

Genma hums. To Natsume, he still feels like sunlight filtering through trees, like the scent of salt and bitter almonds, like a wall of earth. He’s a liar but he doesn’t act like one. After a moment, the man finally comes to some internal conclusion. “That you’re confused and stressed. I know you’re not the cuddly type, but if something is bothering you this much, maybe you should talk about it.” As an afterthought, Genma adds, “Plus, you’ll mess up your training if you’re not focused.”

“I’ll get over it. Endure, right?”

Genma scratches his chin, “Yeah, yeah. But you don’t need to do it alone.”

_ Now that’s rich. _ Natsume exhales sharply through his nose, darkly amused. “Sure.”

“I mean it, Natsume.” The man says, more seriously than before. “Not only are we comrades, we’re also mentor and student. I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

Wiping sweat from his brow, Natsume glances away from the jounin. The sun burns high and hot against the back of his neck, making him squint against the force of it. He keeps thinking about the book—about the man. There’s no doubt in his mind that the book had been placed in his bag by that guy; now, for what reason, he doesn’t know. It makes him suspicious. It makes him nervous. It makes him feel like an idiot, like there’s something going on that everyone else knows about except for him and his brother. It’s always been like that. The hatred and fear and disdain, the piercing eyes and visceral  _ pain.  _

He knows what it looks like when someone hates you. Recognizes it in the slide of eyes off his back, like water off a duck. The subtle curve to the mouth when it drops into a frown or a poorly hidden sneer. He’s been on the other side of far too many acidic looks. Hands aren’t offered, they’re raised. It’s easier to avoid trusting at all then let himself try—people like Shisui shove their way under your skin like splinters, forcing their kindness upon you until you forget what it’s like to not have them there. Sasuke and Hinata...well, they’re children. Blank slates before society sinks its claws in and molds them into the perfect cookie cutter soldiers. He can’t bring himself to hate or ignore them when all they do is reach out.

It’s as if he has handfuls of puzzle pieces, but no clue as to what picture he’s supposed to be putting together. It’s infuriating. 

“Then tell me about the Uzumaki.”

The chirp of cicadas swells to a crescendo. Genma’s eyes are pools of umber, unfathomable and deep like an ocean of earth. While Natsume knows him as laidback and vaguely protective, there’s something very still and dangerous about the quiet. It’s as if Natsume has asked about a secret—something terrible and old and hidden. It feels almost taboo, but that’s ridiculous. That’s  _ his _ name.  _ His _ Clan. Whatever information exists belongs to him, not to Genma or anyone else in Konoha. They don’t deserve to hoard and hide it away.  _ It’s not theirs to covet like stolen goods. _

“The Uzumaki were a Clan that had been allied with the Senju since the Warring States Period.” Genma breaks the silence, lowering himself on the ground to sit. 

Natsume follows suit, placing his Bokken across his lap. “I know that much. The Shodaime even took an Uzumaki bride.”

“Uzumaki Mito-sama.” Genma confirms. “Yeah. The Uzumaki were a big deal, and for good reason. They’re originally from The Land of Eddies, an island off the eastern coast of the Land of Fire. There’s not much I can tell you...not because I don’t want to, but because I honestly don’t know much about it. The entire island was ravaged during the Second War, and it’s destruction is seen as one of Konoha’s greatest shames. I do know their shinobi village was called Uzushio, and that the Uzumaki Clan was renowned for their red hair, longevity and fuuinjutsu….”

Natsume digests this for a moment, latching on to the first thing he can to keep Genma talking while he sorts out his thoughts. “Fuuinjutsu... That’s why you’re teaching me? Because it’s a Clan skill?”

The jounin nods, sunlight glinting off the metal plate of his hitai-ate. “Your taijutsu forms are even based off an old Uzumaki style. You can thank your Uchiha for that.”

He doesn’t quite know what to call the emotion bubbling within him. That’s not very unusual, but this time it feels important. The numbness is searing, but it doesn’t burn away everything. It’s the ashes he can’t discern, fingers too icy and heavy to sort through the remnants.

Because this is just confirmation. 

Confirmation that everyone knows who the Uzumaki are—or were—and didn’t give a damn about actually telling Natsume and Naruto. Teaching him taijutsu and fuuinjutsu...for what?  _ Just because? _ Without even telling him why? Outfitting him with the skills and talents of his people all while pretending they never existed—all while neglecting to educate him on the truth. The shinobi of Konoha wear the Uzumaki symbol on their flak jackets and clothes, but they barely remember what it means. They’re erasing them.  _ Konoha wants to erase Uzushio.  _

Their greatest shame; that’s what Genma called it. Even Shisui is in on it, teaching but never telling.

Is that what Natsume and Naruto are? A source of shame? Of guilt? That hollow regret in exhausted gazes, the discomfort and aversion—

But that doesn’t explain the rage. The blind hate and hurt all rolled into one.

His puzzle is still missing a few pieces.

“No one could tell me this earlier? No one could raise us with this knowledge?”

Genma’s face is a stone wall, “It wasn’t our place.”

“Bullshit,” Natsume laughs sharply, “Then who’s place is it, huh? My dead Clan’s? The Clan you claim is revered by Konoha? If this is how the village treats the children of their beloved sister village, then I don’t want to know how they treat their enemies.”

“Listen, it’s not fair. I know it’s not fair.” Genma’s senbon clicks against his teeth. “The Uzumaki have fallen, their techniques lost, their traditions buried under decades of dust—and it’s terrible. I don’t pretend to imagine how you might feel. I also don’t know anyone who can help you. You and Naruto are the only Uzumaki in Konoha, and the only Uzumaki we know to be alive. We don’t tell you things because as strong and smart as you might be—you and your brother? You’re still children. You’re easy targets for a hungry world.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means,” Genma stresses, “That the Uzumaki are the most powerful clan to ever come out of the shinobi nations. It took a combination of semi-allied nations to launch an attack—and there were still Uzumaki survivors. They were hunted, Natsume. It’s not a pretty history. We don’t know how many of you are left—if it’s come down to just you two after years and years.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite.” Natsume mutters, “The bloody downfall of my Clan is too much, but you’re okay with sending me out to kill?”

“I don’t want to.”

Sharp blue eyes cut into murky umber. “But that’s what you’re training me for.”

The man nods slowly, “Yes, I am.”

* * *

Natsume doesn’t pretend to be kind, but he’s not cruel without purpose. And he’s never cruel to his little brother, who looks at him like he holds the stars—when really the only one floating among stardust is Naruto, the sun incarnate. Natsume remains in the dirt, forever grasping at air with bloody fingernails.

He tells Naruto about the Uzumaki Clan, because there will be no secrets of this magnitude between them. Naruto loves it—loves learning about where they come from, even if there isn’t much information to begin with. He forgives and forgets too easily; doesn’t even try to be mad at Shisui.

* * *

Natsume is another story. 

* * *

“You’re angry with me, huh.” Shisui murmurs. He’s dressed in his usual all black outfit, chopping bean sprouts at the kitchen counter. There’s a bandage across his face and around his wrist, small injuries from the mission he’d just returned from. The scent of steaming vegetables and tangy soy sauce fills the air. The window by the sink is open to let out the hot steam and smoke from the cooking food. 

Natsume hums noncommittally, stirring the pan of frying noodles and vegetables. He has to stand on a stool to reach, and his bangs are held back with a plain blue headband. “Should I be?”

“Yikes.” Shisui mutters under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Natsume huffs softly, stomping out the faint stirrings of amusement. “I haven’t decided yet. I suppose I’m mostly confused as to why you thought keeping it a secret made any sense whatsoever.”

The Uchiha furrows his brow. “I guess it doesn’t in the long run—make sense, that is. At first, it was because we assumed it would keep you safer. Kids say things, you know? Talk without meaning. Trust too easily. We weren’t expecting someone like you—though perhaps we should have. It’s our mistake.”

Natsume pauses in his stirring, ears full of the sizzle and pop of oil. “You keep saying ‘ _ we _ ’ and ‘ _ our _ ’.”

“Konoha,” Shisui elaborates. “The Hokage. It was decided it would be safer to tell you the secrets of your family history when you were older and able to protect yourselves.”

“And yet we still hold the name  _ Uzumaki.” _

The chopping falters. “Yes, well. To be fair, Naruto doesn’t look much like an Uzumaki.”

“But I do.”

Shisui looks over and their eyes meet. “I suppose you do, but red hair isn’t everything.” He says quietly, and yet he doesn’t once look at Natsume’s carmine hair. “I’m sure the Hokage would have told you when you turned twelve, because that’s when he expected you both to be genin. You being a prodigy... threw a wrench in that.”

Natsume turns away, the heat by his hand reminding him to keep stirring. “I should have been told when I graduated.”

“I don’t have the answers to everything, Natsume. Some things are unfair, some things don’t make sense. As shinobi we need to endure it all. Especially when it’s painful.” Shisui steps beside him, dropping the bean sprouts into the pan. He knocks a knuckle lightly against Natsume’s temple, somber but smiling. Always smiling. “I have to keep going forward. I have to keep trusting, even if it ends in heartbreak. That’s the only way I can change things for the better.”

Natsume looks down at the bubbling oils snapping and popping against darkening vegetables. He wonders why it’s  _ his  _ responsibility to suffer for the next generation at age six, before he’s learned anything of the world at all. He wonders why everyone seems to expect him to be on board with it without question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr


	11. wooden heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the longest i've gone without updating this fic which is wild... i started up school tho so things might be slower than before. it's my senior year of college so,,, ya know.
> 
> anywho here's the usual tumblr link: [here!](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)

Fuuinjutsu is an art form. Every mark, every line and stroke and particle has to be made exactly as intended. There’s no space for sloppy penmanship or ink blots, there’s no room for pause or hesitation when your brush is soaked with ink and every wobble of your hand will end up stained into paper. For practice, it’s best to use scrap paper and regular ink. Messing around with seals could take off fingers or limbs or even kill you—which is why it’s recommended  _ not _ to start with chakra conductive ink and expensive scrolls. Everything about fuuinjutsu is expensive, from the special ink to the paper to the amount of time and effort you need to put into perfecting the craft. 

But it hasn’t stopped Natsume yet.

What people forget is that Natsume has just as much energy as his little brother, he just focuses it differently. It’s therapeutic to keep his hands moving. He hyper-fixates on the repetition of calligraphy, practicing the same characters over and over again until they suit his perfectionist nature. His fingers are cramped and stiff and stained with black, but he keeps going at it every single day. 

Genma’s penmanship is beautiful. He’s a man made for detail work, with steady hands and a calm demeanor. His skills lie in assasination with poisons and senbon, the little things that require extra care and hours of training. He knows enough about fuuinjutsu to get Natsume started, and goes out of his way to acquire more resources the further along Natsume gets.

That’s something the Uzumaki appreciates. 

Adults are very rarely trustworthy. But Genma never raises a hand against Natsume. The man never looks at him like he’s dirt, or something shameful. Sometimes the jounin is sad, umber eyes looking for ghosts in the childish features of Natsume’s face. Genma trains him to be better, pushing and pushing until his skills are polished and expanding. Weeks and weeks go by and Natsume no longer tenses when his back is to his sensei—because Genma feels like a wall of earth, like something that Natsume can lean on.

One summer afternoon, while training his chakra, Genma’s presence explodes to the point where Natsume tastes almonds on his tongue, smells fresh cut grass and feels something immovable and settled, yet tinged with anguish. It’s a lot. Enough to make him gasp and recoil, batting away Genma’s awkward hand. 

He breathes deeply through his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “Can you back off? Your chakra is really overwhelming.”

“My chakra?” Genma repeats. 

Natsume cracks an eye open, the surge receding. He gives the other man a look, “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what it is?”

“Cheeky,” the man mutters, “I’m more concerned with the fact that you can even sense me to the point of pain—”

“I wasn’t in pain!”

“ _ Discomfort.” _ Genma rectifies dryly, “Answer me this, can you sense me at all times?”

Natsume purses his lips. The thing about chakra is that it’s all around you. In the grass and earth, in the air—and Konoha is no small time village, it’s packed with bodies and chakra signatures. “For the most part, yeah. Can’t everyone?”

They’re shinobi, it seems pretty natural to be able to sense the very thing that fuels them.

Genma rubs the back of his neck, “To some extent. If you’re using a jutsu or flaring your chakra—concentrated or large bursts are easy to notice. But if everyone could sense chakra even when it’s at the base level or being contained, then we’d have far more trouble with spywork. Shinobi who can identify chakra with ease even in its natural state are what we call Sensors, and their abilities are...ranged depending on distance and precision. There are those that can sense emotion and chakra nature, or tell individuals apart. There’s a rumor that Nidaime-sama could sense people from miles away.”

_ Huh. _ Suddenly the descriptors he’s been attaching to people make a little more sense. Natsume recalls exactly how Genma feels. “You’re...earth.”

“Got it in one, kid.” The Jounin rocks on his heels, senbon shifting from side to side. “I know that to aid in your focus, you form the  _ Hitsuji _ hand sign. It’ll help you concentrate your chakra to your senses. Unfortunately, it’s not exactly something I can help you train with. I’m not a natural-born sensor.”

Natsume looks down at his hands, absently noting the callouses and aching blisters. It’s a useful skill to have. It feels like it’s coming together now—the feelings he gets from others, the shadows at the edges of his senses, the reason he stopped in that alley. It sounds like the best way to improve is to practice his chakra control and meditate. Or something. That doesn’t seem so bad, except the idea of sitting completely still isn’t exactly appealing. If he doesn’t have anything to occupy his hands with then he’ll be left to his over-imaginative thoughts and excess energy. 

Genma clicks his tongue. “Alright. Let’s get back to work. If you can last a minute against me with that bokken then we’ll go on a training trip.  _ Outside the village. _ ”

He perks up. He’s never been outside the village before, has only gazed at the towering walls surrounding them. Just outside there is dense forest, sprinkled with farmland and patches of homes. The closest town is a days walk away by civilian standards. 

Natsume shifts and puts thoughts of chakra away for now, pulling his bokken from where it rests at his hip. Across from him, Genma doesn’t move from his slouched, lax position. It’s a little annoying, but Natsume isn’t yet at the skill level for the jounin to take him seriously. One day, maybe. He darts forward, the wooden sword whipping around like an extension of his arm. It gives him better reach and lets him stay on the far end of Genma’s space. The man will have to shift his form and weight to grab at Natsume. 

No matter how quickly he strikes and moves, he’s still not able to land a hit on Genma. The man grins, however, a flash of teeth and steel. The jounin’s dark eyes carefully watch Natsume’s attacks—and Natsume feels something like pride blossom in his chest, feels petals press to his rib cage and threaten to burst from his skin. The new focus means that he’s become more of a threat. 

When Genma retaliates, it’s just on the side of too fast. Glancing blows are dodged by the skin of Natsume’s teeth, his bones rattling with every hit he counters with his bokken. Genma doesn’t give Natsume more than he can handle, but he gives enough that Natsume has to push himself. He always feels exhausted after their training sessions, but it’s a good sort of tired—helps him fall right to sleep. 

(Helps him feel like he really is improving.)

Suddenly, Genma moves faster than before, hand darting out too quickly for the eye to see. Natsume twists his bokken up for a block and braces for a hit that never comes. Instead, a hand lands on his head. Genma grins down at him and ruffles the mess of red under his fingers. 

“Minute’s up kid. You did good.”

“You went easy on me.”

“Of course I did, I’m a jounin.”

Natsume resolutely does  _ not _ pout. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Do you want to go on this training trip or not?” Genma asks, amused. His chakra feels like sun-warmed rocks. 

“I do.”

* * *

Shisui offers to watch Naruto when he can. It brings some measure of relief to Natsume, as he’s never been separated from his brother for such a long period of time. He’s not even sure Naruto can be trusted to take care of himself if Natsume isn’t there to hold his hand. The blond has never had to cook or attempt his homework on his own—now that he thinks about it, maybe Natsume  _ has _ been doing too much and not letting his little brother grow on his own. Then again, Naruto was six. 

He  _ should _ be acting like a kid and being looked after. It just really sucks that Natsume has to do the looking after, even if he loves his brother more than anything. 

Shisui will be busy with his own training and missions, he’s a jounin after all. A strong one, too. The stress lines on his youthful face aren’t just for show. This means that Naruto  _ will _ have to be on his own for some measure of time. Not only is that a terrifying thought, but it’s also Natsume’s worst nightmare. All he can think about these days is coming home to find that Naruto has drowned in the tub or killed himself on the edge of a table or burned the entire apartment down trying to cook.

In the end, he sets up his little brother with a couple packs of cup ramen. Naruto can make those in his sleep at this point, and it’s the least risky meal—even if it is heavy with sodium and disgustingly unhealthy to consume day in and day out. 

He wakes up the morning of the training journey long before Naruto, who snores away the next bed over. Natsume smiles briefly at his little brother, blond hair wild with sleep and limbs tangled in shuriken patterned sheets. The sun is only just beginning to peer over the horizon, painting Konoha in shades of orange cream and carnation pink. The world is still fuzzy and dim when he steps outside, new pack over his shoulders. It almost feels too big for his body, the bottom of the pack bumping the backs of his thighs with every step. 

Genma waits for him at the gate, cutting a tall figure against the gloom of sunrise. His shadow is long and dark, his hair tinged orange in the light. “All set, kiddo?”

“Yes.”

They aren’t going too far. This is more like a camping excursion than anything else, where Natsume will be taught survival skills and hunting tactics that he’ll be missing out on due to early graduation. It’s Natsume’s first time running through the trees with chakra, so they’re probably going slower than Genma’s usual pace. They make quiet conversation, Natsume’s replies marginally shorter than the jounin’s. Genma tests him on various kanji used in fuuinjutsu and Natsume adjusts to multitasking while leaping from branch to branch meters above the ground. 

The sun finds its way higher in the sky, the trees shielding them from the harsh light. With every hour that passes, the atmosphere warms and the world awakens. Summer is in full swing around them, cicadas screaming and the air thickening with the usual mugginess of a Konoha August. The Land of Fire is hot summers and frigid winters, always a little wet no matter which season. He’s sure that the weather in Suna must be a dry heat—which would probably be preferable at this point, with the way the air seems to cling to his skin and drag him down.

Genma’s hair curls just a little at the tips from the humidity. He doesn’t look like he’s sweating at all though. The kind of chakra control it takes to regulate his body temperature while using chakra to leap through the trees is not something Natsume is privy to just yet. He takes the full brunt of the heat with a scowl, his own hair puffed to twice its normal volume.

They stop when the sun is high enough in the sky to signify noontime, and Natsume’s stomach is beginning to protest. He feels hot and tired, but not as bad as he thought he’d feel after hours of nonstop travel. His stamina has significantly improved, mostly thanks to Gai and his training routines. Since graduation, Natsume hasn’t seen the  _ Green Beast _ at all, too busy with Genma and genin life. Privately, he can admit it feels a bit weird to not hear Gai’s boisterous voice during training sessions. 

Does he  _ miss _ the man?

He’s not too sure. It’s not like Gai is dead. Throughout their training he’d continually told himself not to get attached, no matter how welcoming Gai ended up being. Now he doesn’t know what to feel. 

They packed no food. 

The purpose of the excursion is to train his survival skills. That means he needs to hunt, kill and cook his own food. He needs to learn which plants are edible, which are poisonous, what climate they grow in and in what season they bloom. How to set up a camp, how to start a fire and use seals to disperse smoke before it forms—how to cover it all up and make it seem as if no one had ever been there. 

Genma shows him how to make various traps for small prey, and how to make various traps for much larger prey; the kind with loyalties and murderous intent. Natsume resolves to buy a book on herbs when he gets back to the village. There’s no way he’s going to memorize all the information that his sensei is dumping on him right now.

The need to dig a pit for a makeshift ‘outhouse’, which is Natsume’s first meeting with discomfort. To be a shinobi means more than just murder, it’s becoming impervious to the sight of nakedness and gore and literal shit. There’s not a smidge of embarrassment on Genma’s face when he instructs Natsume to dig the hole at least four feet deep, and only three yards away from the edge of their camp, so the view isn’t obscured. The older man was raised in the midst of a war, he’s probably seen way too many people shit their pants out of fear or after death or just perched over a hole in the middle of forest. 

Natsume swallows his discomfort.

“The most basic structure of a camp includes a water source, pit latrine, traps and a smokeless fire. This can change depending on the situation. While we’re in our own country, fires are fine. In another, even smokeless it might not be the best decision as it still creates light. A general rule while traveling in hostile territory is to never stop after the sun has already set. You either stop when there’s still light, or you move through the night. Trying to set up a camp in the dark isn’t smart or safe, and you can use evening light to mask a fire if you need one—as long as you put it out before dusk.” 

There’s a bubbling brook about half a mile from their position, from which they’d been able to catch some fish. Small, but enough for now. Their hunting traps haven’t caught anything just yet. The stream water he swallows is gritty and just on the side of too warm after being boiled over the fire. Everything about this is mildly uncomfortable. 

The two of them sit across from each other, the position allowing them a wider visual range. Natsume has already eaten his way through his portion of the fish they’d caught, hands sticky with fat grease. At least now that he’s sitting, he can work on regulating his temperature with his chakra and cool himself down. 

Genma continues to look unbothered, not a hair out of place. He munches slowly on the skewered fish, taking his time with his words. “Solo missions are considerably more dangerous than any other, not only because of the whole  _ solo _ fighting thing, but also because you don’t have anyone to watch your back during downtime. In our case, a two man squad isn’t exceptionally common. It requires a ten hour rest, not including the time it takes to set up camp between just two people. It’s why three man squads are preferred. Puts you at a bit of a disadvantage, since you don’t have your own genin squad.”

The man pauses for a second, but when Natsume doesn’t chime in with any questions, he continues. “Genin are trained in three man squads because that’s Konoha’s preferred set up for efficiency. Of course, mission parameters can change that. You have to consider the size of your group and how long the mission is expected to take when figuring out sleep rotations. The best time to do so would be before you even leave the gates, but some missions are on the fly and there isn’t much time to talk before you’re on the move. Hate those ones.”

“Why’s a three man squad the best for efficiency?” 

Genma finishes the last of his fish and tosses the skewer stick to the side. Before responding, he pulls a senbon from  _ somewhere _ and slides it between his lips. “Three people setting up a campsite takes barely any time at all, and you only need a nine hour sleep cycle, with each person getting six hours if you split the watch time into three shifts. It’s more sleep than a solo or two person team would get, and takes less time overall in a more efficient manner. Larger groups might split watch over the course of a few days, but we can’t waste resources on every mission by sending out more than three every time.”

“I see.” Natsume murmurs. So it looks like he’ll have to play  _ friends _ with other shinobi over the course of his career. He can probably deal with that as long as they don’t expect him to make small talk. 

“C’mon,” Genma grunts, pushing himself to his feet. “Lemme show you how to dispose of food traces.”

Natsume grips his skewer and stands.

* * *

That night, they split the nightwatch into two five-hour shifts. Genma lets him sleep first, and it takes Natsume at least an hour before he falls into a fitful rest. The ground is hard and unforgiving despite the slight barrier the sleeping mat gifts him. When he’s shaken awake he doesn’t feel well rested, and his body protests when he forces himself to move. All the day’s activity combined with about four hours of rest time really does a number on his six-year-old body.

Genma slumps into his sleeping bag and presumably is out like a light—but Natsume can’t be sure the jounin is going to get any sleep at all. Shifting soundlessly, Natsume presses his back to a nearby tree and looks around into the dark. Shadows and dark spots shift with the wind, trees groan and wildlife scutters across dry brush. He feels paranoia lay heavily over him like a thick blanket. Since the fire was put out and the remains discarded, the only light is from the faintest flashes of the moon through the leaves.

It’s scary.

He can’t curl in on himself, because that hinders his movement if he needs to react immediately. All he can do is sit quietly and focus his chakra to peer around them. It’s actually pretty good training, and it takes part of his mind off the fear of the dark. Genma’s chakra is carefully contained and stagnant like a mountain—but there isn’t much of a difference in presence. Natsume is almost positive now that the man isn’t asleep, and likely will stay awake just in case Natsume fails to complete guard duty.

There isn’t much else he can sense aside from a few animals, and their chakra feels distinctly different from that of a human. He’s not quite sure how to describe it. In the same way he can feel the differences in a person’s chakra, he can just  _ tell  _ when something isn’t human. Their presence is too small, too faint. They blend into the surrounding area, like smudges of graphite on paper.

He spends the next few hours practicing with his chakra and reciting fuuinjutsu particles in his head. Every once in a while he’ll hear a sound from an animal that’ll distract him—make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his paranoia grow—but nothing ever happens. 

When the dim light of sunrise breaks through the treetops, Genma sits up. It’s almost five hours on the dot, Natsume having been just about to push himself up and make his way over to his sensei. 

Because they have nowhere to be, Genma shows him how to check the hunting traps they’d left overnight. There’s a rabbit in one of them and a squirrel in another. Both alive.

“This is another lesson you’re missing out on in the Academy.” Genma murmurs, crouching down next to Natsume and the squirming animals. “They teach you basic woodland survival, including how to trap, kill and skin animals. Seeing as you graduated early, you weren’t able to learn that.”

Natsume looks down at the frightened, wiggling animals. Shards of ice lodge in his chest, birthing seeds of discomfort. It’s a different kind of nervousness, not at all like what he’d felt having to use the bathroom in full view of another person—even if said person hadn’t batted an eye or seemed to care. 

Genma is a warm and steady presence at his side. Crouched like this, the top of Natsume’s head is about shoulder height. Natsume is always reminded of how small and young he is compared to everyone around him—and kind as Genma is, he always seems to forget that Natsume is a child everytime he sees the glint of the hitai-ate around Natsume’s arm. “You know what I’m asking you to do, right?”

“Kill them.” Natsume replies, unmoving.

Genma shifts a little, the first signs of discomfort Natsume has seen from the man. “Yeah, kid. Doesn’t take much. Get a good hold of the head and body. It’s just a sharp twist—you’ll feel a pop. Animals like this are tiny and fragile in our hands, Natsume. But they’re like people in that way as well. Easier to kill than you think.”

The rabbit thrashes when Natsume puts his hands on it, squirming helplessly in its stuck position. He grips the back, fingers clenched tight around tufts of fur. He can feel the rabbit’s heartbeat shake its whole body.  _ Do it, _ he thinks.

Genma watches quietly. His earthy tones feel less like a place to rest against and more like a corner Natsume’s been backed into. 

_ Do it. _ This is his life now.

Natsume’s fingers tremble, nausea rearing its ugly head. His face remains carefully blank as emotions he’s unable to name twist around his ribcage into tightly wound coils.

He snaps the rabbit’s neck.

* * *

Skinning it is easier than the killing, though Natsume doesn’t voice his thoughts. Genma skins and guts the rabbit with skilled, familiar movements. It’s for Natsume’s benefit—he’s to observe and then copy the motions on the squirrel, the smaller and less meaty animal. In the event that he messes up, they’ll still have the rabbit and a pocketful of edible herbs. There’s a blackberry bush growing wildly by the stream, the brambles sharp and threatening to soft hands. Genma plucked as many as he could carry without much thought, hands far more dexterous than Natsume’s. He himself ends up with a few paper-thin cuts that heal within minutes. 

They eat their food and Genma shows him how to find mint, which also grows by the stream, in the shade of a few larger plants. He stuffs a handful of the leaves in his mouth and chews to rid the tacky, gross feeling left from not being able to brush his teeth. He picks the beginning bits of plaque from his teeth with his fingernails beside his sensei. 

“Normally we wouldn’t waste time doing this.” Genma murmurs. 

And yet they are, so Natsume can’t help but think that the man is trying to go easy on him.

“What about smell? After a few days, people start to stink.”

Genma chuckles, “Trust me, I’m aware. Most shinobi use scent-blocking seals or scentless deodorizers. For long journeys there’s usually time to wash off in a river, depending on where you are. Subtle scents or scentless soaps are what most shinobi go for when at home anyway. Those that stay in the village more are a lot more lax on that kind of thing—you know, wearing perfumes or colognes, or just not bothering to try and hide their normal scent. Just don’t douse yourself in anything before meeting an Inuzuka, unless you want them to avoid you.”

Natsume hasn’t met any Inuzuka yet, but he’s seen them around. Red clan markings, feral appearances, usually brown or black hair—and huge dogs. Some of them look a lot like wolves, but everyone he’s overheard always calls them dogs, no matter the size. He’s not much of a dog person, really. Cats are less bothersome and don’t require constant supervision. Naruto once really wanted a dog, begging and pleading for a puppy, but Natsume knew it would’ve been him who ended up having to deal with the worst of it. 

It had been one of Naruto’s worst tantrums, though his younger brother forgot about it a few days later and instead insisted he wanted a toad.

“Can I get that at the Shinobi Surplus?” he asks, the taste of mint sharp and grassy on the back of his tongue.

“Yeah, you can buy scentless soaps there, too. We’ll be working on the scent-blocking seals soon so you won’t need to worry about purchasing them.” The senbon clicks against Genma’s teeth. 

Natsume tries to replace the vacant feeling in his chest with excitement at the idea of learning more fuinjutsu. But he still feels odd and bloody, the lives of two innocent animals on his conscience.

It really was easy.

* * *

They have two weeks out here, so Genma shows Natsume how to completely cover up the area to make it look as if they were never there, and then they leave. They travel in whichever direction Genma has chosen, but the sun lowering behind them tells Natsume that they’re heading east. He’s only briefly seen a map of the Land of Fire, but from what he recalls it means they’re making their way to the coast. 

He’s never seen the ocean before. Something about it makes his extremities tingle with—with what? Desire to see the water? To feel sand under his bare feet or taste the bitter tang of salt across his mouth? He isn’t sure.

On the fourth day they end up by one of the Land of Fire’s many rivers, taking turns stripping down to nothing and cleaning the dirt and summer sweat from their bodies. The water is frigid, but nice compared to the hot sun blazing down on the back of their necks. Genma shows him how to wash his clothes and Natsume forces himself to grow accustomed to nakedness. It’s not so bad, as he’s been responsible for bathing Naruto for the past few years. It’s only weird because for some reason, in his head nudity coincides with sex—and casual nudity coincides with intimacy and trust. Maybe there’s trust, but there’s definitely nothing intimate or sexual between him and Genma. 

They’re just two bags of meat when it comes down to it. 

Whatever knowledge that sits in his head from...before...is the reason for the odd stigmas he attaches to certain things. It makes him feel even more alone and on the outskirts when the people around him are so comfortable and familiar with cultural connotations and actions that Natsume finds instinctively odd or foreign.

They dry their clothes in the sun and Natsume practices water walking while he waits. He never feels comfortable enough to look at the man straight on, but he manages to see scars and puckered burn marks along Genma’s bare skin. A map of violence across his flesh. 

Natsume looks down at his own skin, light brown and unmarred. He wonders if one day he’ll be covered in old wounds with stories to tell. 

* * *

The first week passes quickly and by the time the second week is half-way through they’re turned around and on their way back, heading west to Konoha. He’s grown a bit used to sleeping on the ground, warming himself against the chill of the night with his chakra. More animals have fallen to his hands, and he’s a bit numb to it now. It still feels saddening—but only for a moment. There’s no other food out here, and survival takes precedence over his feelings. 

Genma teaches him hand signals for  _ stop, go, enemy approaching _ and  _ enemy spotted. _ There’s a few others to go over, but Genma takes pity on his fried brain and only teaches a few. Natsume learned a lot during this trip, more than he expected. Shinobi life is harsh and miserable and relies far more on base instincts than he’d first anticipated. They become tools and animals for their village, chained dogs to bark and tear at each other. Like Genma had said, animals are easier to kill than you think.

Not having a toothbrush sucks. Not having more clothes is awful. Not knowing if you’ll have enough food is terrifying. But they are shinobi and they must be exposed to this. They must learn from it—how to overcome, how to flourish in the wilderness like the beasts they are.

They’re making their way back and he doesn’t smell because he learned how to clean himself and his clothes in the wild. He’s not hungry because he learned how to hunt and forage. He’s not  _ dead _ because he learned how to stay on guard, how to look for signs of nearby life and how to be on his feet within a second of waking. He can regulate his temperature with chakra and walk on water. He memorized hand signals for foriegn nin and basic movement. 

It was only one training trip, but he already feels stronger. He already feels better than he was when they left. 

“They won’t all be like this,” Genma murmurs around his senbon. “We’ll come across bandits, criminals or foreign shinobi. I chose to keep us towards the east because it was less likely for us to run into other shinobi—unless Kiri decided to cross the ocean and infiltrate the forests.”

“Could they do that?” 

His sensei shakes his head. “Not without some trouble. We have guard posts along the entire border of the Land of Fire. On most occasions, it’s not the most exciting job in the world.” Genma glances back at him as they fly through the trees. “Unfortunately we’ll probably have to suffer through it soon enough.”

Natsume frowns, “Doesn’t really sound like something a genin should participate in.”

“Normally, you’d be correct. For you, it’ll be good C Rank experience, especially if we’re posted by the coastal border or the border with Kusa. The Suna-Konoha border might be okay, but even with the alliance we’re not exactly buddy-buddy.”

“Politics.” Natsume scoffs lightly. 

Genma grins a little, “You said it.”

* * *

They reach Konoha at the end of the second week, when the sun is orange and heavy above the horizon. He doesn’t feel any sort of excitement when he sees the gates. What he  _ is _ excited about is seeing Naruto, and maybe that shows on his face.

“Glad to be home?” Genma asks, a knowing smile on his mouth.

Natsume isn’t quite sure the man actually gets it—because Konoha isn’t a home. It’s wood and cement and eyes on his back. A prison. Naruto is his home. But he’s learned more on the trip than just survival. He spent two weeks in close quarters with a man who put his heart and soul into serving Konoha, so he gets it now. 

_ He gets it. _

You don’t get far if you act traitorous—if you show your scorn for the village. This is a military dictatorship and prodigy or not he’s a child in a world meant for adults. 

“Yes,” he says, Naruto’s smile and bright blue eyes in his head, “I’m glad to be home and take an actual shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember to check out my [tumblr](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/) for art, questions, little notes and chapter updates!


	12. closed heart

When Natsume and Naruto turn 7, they have a birthday party. It’s the first birthday party they’ve ever had, though it isn’t very large. Natsume prefers that, actually, and it’s not so much a  _ party _ as it is a small gathering. Sasuke, Shisui and Itachi show up together in the evening. Hinata shortly after, out of breath and clearly not supposed to be out. Nobody mentions it.

Because the day of their birth coincides with the Kyuubi attack, the festival of remembrance is in full swing through the day. Despite the festivities, a somber mood hangs over the village. It’s not a time for true celebration, and it’s certainly not a time for Naruto and Natsume to exit their homes without caution. 

When the knock on their door comes during sunset, the only reason Natsume even opens the door is because he can sense who stands behind it. 

“What are you doing here?”

Shisui grins, a gift bag swinging from his hand. “Isn’t it obvious? Throwing a party!”

Naruto excitedly pulls them in, blabbering away about his day and the lopsided cake Natsume had baked them. This year it’s chocolate again, and he’s no better at baking than he was last time. 

Itachi nods to Natsume, a box held carefully in his hands. He looks exhausted, not just in the lines of his face, but in the dull sheen of his obsidian eyes. “I hope we aren’t intruding, Uzumaki-kun.”

“No,” Natsume sighs, “Come in. We weren’t particularly busy.”

The Uchiha smiles a bit, a mere twitch of his lips. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “We brought a cake. Shisui says you normally bake one yourself, but we decided to treat you anyway. It’s strawberry.”

“Thank you,” he replies, taking the box from the older boy. He’s never had strawberry cake before, but he has a feeling he’ll like it. It’s also just...nice. Gifts feel pretty meaningless to a shinobi, so being given food or something of use is preferred. It’s just a cake, but it’s one of the nicest gifts they’ve received. “Really.”

Itachi’s lips do not move, but his eyes do soften, reflecting the orange of the setting sun. “It’s no problem at all.”

“Hey, hey! Get over here!” Shisui calls from the kitchen, “We’re not getting any younger—well, this guy certainly isn’t! Eh, birthday boy?” He aggressively noogies Naruto’s head until the blonde is screeching with laughter. 

Natsume shares a glance with Itachi and, for the first time, feels a sort of kinship. He can see it in the way the older boy carries himself, in the way he watches over Sasuke and seems so, so tired, the weight of the world on his twelve year old shoulders. For the first time, Natsume sees what Shisui does—he sees that he and Itachi really are too similar for their own good. 

And perhaps Itachi sees the same.

(So why does the look in his eyes turn sad?)

Hinata comes just an hour later, when Sasuke and Naruto’s hands are greasy with dinner and they’ve been eyeing the cake like it’s a pile of gold. Only  _ then  _ do they cut it. Shisui does the honors, slicing through white frosting decorated with strawberry slices. It’s the most expensive cake Natsume has ever seen. The inside is vanilla and cream with strawberries between the cakes, and it tastes better than every sweet Natsume has so far consumed. 

He decides he really likes strawberries.

Hinata can’t stay too long, but her, Sasuke and Naruto move to the living room space after cake to burn off the sugar by playing with Naruto’s toys. Shisui had bought him another plush to add to his growing collection. This one is a cat with red button eyes. Hinata holds the toad plush, Sasuke has a silver dog, and the three of them run around with the plushies high in the air, pretending the little toys are shinobi animals on a mission. Their laughter rings in Natsume’s ears, clear and high like bells.

He stays at the table with Shisui and Itachi, tired but not  _ tired _ . There’s no desire to join the three children, even though he’s the same age. 

“How’s that sensei of yours?” Shisui asks, thinking he’s being sneaky when he nabs a glob of frosting from the remaining cake and sticks it in his mouth.

“Genma-sensei is...acceptable.”

“Acceptable?” Shisui repeats, attempting to share an exaggerated glance with Itachi. “That’s high praise coming from you.”

Natsume scowls, “It’s not praise, I’m being practical.”

Shisui only smiles, teeth like a shark. His eyes glimmer like hot coals; burning, burning, burning. “Sure.” He allows, like he knows every nook and cranny of Natsume’s personality. Maybe he does.

The sun has entirely set and the buzzing hum of electricity burrows its way into his head. He focuses once more on the laughter behind him, tucks it away in his memory for another day, when there’s less laughter and light and warmth. 

“You’ve been progressing.”

Natsume glances to Itachi, to the dark gaze and dark hair and pale skin; the Uchiha who feels like an inferno, like feathers, like sugar powder clinging to his fingertips. “That’s the idea.”

“Will you continue to pursue kenjutsu?” Itachi asks, and Natsume can’t tell if the other boy is genuinely curious or just trying to fill the silence. “Shisui tells me you’ve grown quite skilled.”

“He’s amazing! Soon Shiranui won’t be able to keep up with him.” Shisui brags. “He’ll have to find another trainer.”

Natsume ignores Shisui’s interruption. “I’m getting there. Continuing is in my best interests, so I’ll probably pursue another teacher eventually. Genma-sensei doesn’t specialize in it.”

“I see.” Itachi murmurs, ignoring Shisui as well.

“Guys!? Are you trying to hurt my feelings?”

* * *

Hinata has to leave within the hour and as the sun has already set, the Uchiha boys decide to walk her home. Naruto is sad to see them go, but there’s a lightness in his face that Natsume doesn’t recognize. It isn’t that his little brother was ever  _ unhappy _ when it was just them two. Naruto treasured the moments they spent together, treasured having Natsume’s attention, the little gifts the redhead would scrounge up and the unconditional love connecting them. But Natsume was not blind to the way that Naruto wanted  _ more. _

His little brother was like the sun, excessively bright and  _ reaching _ —grasping for more, more, more. He drew people in and kept them close, made them grow under his undiluted light. Made them  _ want _ to stay. Made them believe him when he put his mind to something.

Natsume does not have that charisma, and charisma it must be, because for all that Naruto is determined and bright and inherently kind, he’s also annoying and loud. What Natsume  _ does  _ have is an unnatural maturity that separates him from his agemates, and a youthful appearance that separates him from the adults. Strictly speaking, Natsume does not  _ fit. _ He’s also not the only one of his kind, however, because Shisui and Itachi are the same, even if they’re leaving childhood behind. They’re older and taller but they  _ get _ him. They treat him as he is and don’t take things like age or appearance into account. 

The burden of being a child prodigy in a shinobi world is shared across their still growing shoulders.

Shisui swings him up and around with ease, seventeen and beautiful the way the most deadly and dangerous of creatures are, squeezing Natsume into hugs he can’t escape from. The Uchiha still tries to carry him around like he’s four years old, and not seven with knobby knees and the heft of a growing boy. 

“Release me!” He growls like a wet cat, kicking out uselessly with his legs, arms pinned to his sides. He puts on a show, but there’s very little attempt at a true struggle. 

Shisui is tall and warm and his arms feel more like a home than Konoha’s streets. He smells of ichor and syrup and steel, he feels like a prowling beast and a night sky filled with stars and the heavy, hot churn of magma. He’s not like Naruto, but he also is. 

Naruto and Shisui. Shisui and Naruto. 

Like a little family.

Shisui’s laughter is throaty, his voice finally evened out after a few years of cracking. He finally drops Natsume, only to move to Naruto and give the blond the same goodbye treatment. Sasuke huffs by the door, hand in hand with Hinata and waiting for the oldest Uchiha to finish his dramatics. 

Itachi slips a scroll displaying the Uchiha crest into his palm. “You should find this useful.”

“This is a Clan scroll.” Natsume notes, not exactly questioning the decision. “Won’t you get in trouble for this?”

Itachi—tired, dark eyed Itachi—does not smile, but his brow is soft and he looks his age under the yellow lamplight. “I am the heir, and you are an Uzumaki.”

That, Natsume supposes, is an answer in itself. He and Naruto wave goodbye to their friends, the four sticking the shadows so no one wonders why the Hyuuga heir is hanging around with a bunch of Uchiha. The two Uzumaki watch until their friends are out of sight. Only then does Natsume close the door and tell Naruto to go get ready for bed.

He thinks about Itachi’s gift for a while.

“Politics.” He scoffs into the night air, after Naruto is dead asleep.

(The scroll is filled with the basics of fire-resistant seals. It does not escape his notice that Uchiha are mainly  _ fire _ natures.)

* * *

Winter means learning a new set of survival skills. At seven years old, he’s barely four feet tall and maybe 50lbs soaking wet; this means one of his biggest concerns is keeping warm and preserving body heat. It’s easier to combat now that he can circulate his chakra to regulate his temperature. (He runs hotter than most anyway.)

Genma takes him on another shopping trip, but they don’t go to the usual shop that Natsume frequents—the one where he’d gotten that Clan book from. Instead they walk and walk and walk until they’re in a less populated area of Konoha, and a sprawling forest can be seen in the distance. The trees are tall and dark, but they don’t look as large as those obnoxious Hashirama trees. 

The shop they step into is swathed in dull greens and tans, the symbol of the Nara Clan on a banner they step under. It smells like a forest inside, like pine needles and petrichor and fur. Stylized clothes made of fishnet or deerskin or dark green fabrics are on the left, weaponry in the middle and what looks like medicinal items on the right. Deer antlers and jars of plants, sludge, poison, the occasional animal corpse or mushroom. 

A part of Natsume, the part that has too much knowledge, likens it to a weaponized witch shop. He doesn’t know where that thought comes from. There’s no such thing as witches, and they most certainly don’t have shops.

“This...is a Clan store.” He can’t help but point out the obvious.

“Sure is.” Is Genma’s cheerful reply, senbon clacking against his teeth. 

“Are we allowed in here?”

His sensei moves into the store without a care, and the one Nara manning the register only glances up at them for a moment before going back to the sudoku book in their hand. Natsume can’t tell if it’s a man or woman, but the thick, dark hair and deep brown skin poke at his brain until he remembers that it’s eerily similar to the way that mystery man in the previous store looked. 

_ Oh, _ he thinks to himself, reaching out with his sensory abilities. The Nara at the register feels like the shadows between sunbeams.  _ They’re related. No doubt about it. _

“Yeah,” Genma replies, dragging him over to the clothing. “It’s an open shop, just Nara run. Can’t buy the clothes with their Clan Symbol though. Not unless you plan on marrying into the Nara...I hear the Clan Head has a son about your age.” He throws a loose, teasing smile in Natsume’s direction.

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “I’m not interested in changing my name.” 

Genma huffs. “You’re no fun.”

The man outfits him with thermals, shows him the best clothes for winter. The Nara make exceptional clothing suited for the wilderness, their thermals lightweight and like a second skin, easy to wear under the usual uniform. A slightly thicker version contains mesh armor intertwined with the fabric, adding defense on top of the cold protection. A winter cloak is added to the pile, a little too big for Natsume at the moment, but Genma poorly hides his amusement and assures Natsume that he’ll grow into it.

Natsume does  _ not _ pout, because having a slightly too large cloak isn’t bad at all. It’s smart, in fact, because he’s a growing boy and within a few months he’ll need to buy all new clothes anyway. 

They buy a few more things, including a winter kit with heat seals to dry out wet lumber or boil snow. He could probably make his own, but they come with the kit so he’s not complaining. They’re interesting to study and pick apart, too. The kanji ‘温’ meant  _ warm, _ and was the focal point for multiple heat related seals. For the drying-slash-heating ones, fuuinjutsu particles were added to shift  _ warm _ to  _ heat up, warm up _ when applied to inorganic objects like clothes, lumber or liquid. You had to be careful with the output, however, else you light your clothes on fire instead of drying them out. The grades were sorted like missions. A Grade D Heat Seal would dry light clothes or paper. Grade C, thicker clothes or fabrics. Grade B would dry lumber. Grade A would boil water. Grade S was how to start fires discreetly without leaving a trace as to  _ how. _

Going another route with the same central kanji, you create insulation seals. They were commonly used on clothes and tents to keep a shinobi warm in chilly environments even without excessive layers. It was an odd seal, because the particles spoke of  _ stagnation _ while also being surrounded by strokes for  _ infinity. _

The seals in the scroll Itachi gave him were entirely the opposite, meant to stop fire instead of create it. 消, the kanji for  _ extinguish _ was the center of that seal, surrounded by watery lines and swooping marks that formed the kanji for  _ fire. _ A good seal for protecting clothes, scrolls and books from going up in flames. It definitely offered a buffer against chakra-infused fire, but probably wouldn’t last under a constant stream of it. That was fine, Natsume can figure out something better eventually, now that he has the building blocks of the seal.

He likes Fuuinjutsu. It requires enough concentration to pull his thoughts away from dark corners and feels like art, every stroke done with the utmost care. It feels a little familiar in a way, but only to that part of his brain that was  _ more. _

He finds he likes art. Fuuinjutsu gives him an outlet for that creative impulse, because seals look like beautiful, swirling patterns. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough. He wants to do silly things like paint or capture Naruto and Shisui in graphite portraits. But that’s for people with time, and he does not have time.

“Do you need me to pay for these?” Genma asks.

Natsume levels him with a vicious stare, lip curling. The man raises his hands in surrender, the corners of his mouth rising. 

“Alright, alright. That’s the last time I’ll be a gentleman.” 

The Uzumaki takes his pile over to the register, barely able to see over it. He struggles with all the items but neither adult makes a comment about it, though Natsume can feel Genma’s amusement like a laser on the back of his neck. 

Nara-san checks out all the items and, in a voice just as androgynous as their appearance, states the total. “1,000 ryo.”

Natsume looks at all the items on the counter: three pairs of thermals, one with mesh lining, a cloak, closed-toed shoes and a winter supply kit that had heat seals, freeze-proof containers and basic medical supplies. The haul was worth well above 1,000 ryo. If anything, this kind of shopping spree might cost the same as a D Rank depending on where you bought your materials from—and a D Rank was around 5,000 ryo.

( _ Total. _ Meaning it had to be split among whoever participated. That’s why most genin squads did a few D Ranks  _ a day, _ so they could actually earn enough money to stock up.)

He puts 1,000 ryo on the counter. 

Nara-san takes, puts the items into two bags, and slides them over to Natsume. He takes them, suspicious and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Normally he wouldn’t care, because saving money is preferable and he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. But this time, something feels  _ different. _ Maybe not bad...but odd.

“Why’s it so cheap?”

Nara-san clicks the pen in their hand and pulls their sudoku book up. “No idea what you mean, kid.”

And that’s that.

When they leave, Natsume very stubbornly carries his bags by himself. Genma doesn’t offer. It seems he’s learned not to interfere with Natsume’s way of doing things—or he finds Natsume’s struggling a good source of amusement. 

“Go home and pack for a few days' travel.” His sensei announces. “I’m gonna teach you exactly why you need that stuff you just bought.”

Before Natsume can reply, Genma has vanished in a swirl of leaves. He tightens his grip on his bags and heads home, feet ghosting silently over the frozen ground. His breath leaves his lips in a cloud of condensed air, his nose turning red the longer he trudges on in the cold. If he wanted, he could be home in a flash. Could take to the rooftops or shunshin away and escape to somewhere warmer.

But there’s something soothing about the chill, at least for the moment. When it snows, everything becomes quieter. White covers the world in a blanket, muffling sound and sending the ambient noise of insects and animals into hibernation. He likes the quiet. He likes the color of the street lanterns reflecting off the flat, untouched snow. The trail of a single person cutting through sparkling white. It’s the aesthetic of winter that he likes, far more than the cold and muck and wet of it all. 

He’s named for summer, and though he’s not a fan of the humid heat of Konoha, he suits the season better. He can stand warm temperatures far longer than cold ones, which makes sense given his lineage. The Uzumaki were a coastal clan, an island clan. Uzushio winters—according to geography books—were more on the side of  _ lukewarm _ rather than chilly, with warm waters and a volcanic underbelly. Constitutionally, he was bred to withstand heat more than cold.

(Though bred was an uncomfortable word for it—then again, who knows.)

When he does get home, he’s chilled but not freezing. There are children running by with heavy coats, their noses dripping snot and their ears a violent red. He doesn’t feel it, clad in a thin blue jacket with his cheeks only faintly pink. Chakra circulates through him with ease, warming. 

He feels...old.

* * *

During the winter trip, Natsume learns how to hunt in the snow. Food is scarce, most animals hiding away from the cold in hibernation or migrated to warmer lands. Plants are withered and dead. Water sources frozen. The very air enough to kill a man, even the biggest man, with hypothermia. 

Small animals like squirrels and chipmunks are harder to find but still present, and there are a few rabbits wearing white winter coats. More effort is put into hunting during the winter and set-up for camps takes longer. This means the travel time in general is lengthened and movement is slowed. Missions take longer, even if it’s just hours or days more, it’s still  _ longer. _

Plants like Rose Hips, Persimmons and Barberries can be scrounged depending on the location, and if it comes down to it pine trees have bark that can be ground into a flour that provides calories and Hickory nuts can be plucked from the icy ground. Of course, most head out on missions with packets of jerky and calorie pills and during the winter you can purchase food pills with a higher fat content. 

Natsume has a packet of jerky and a bag of calorie pills. He learns how to correctly apply insulating and warming seals to clothes and tents, where best to set up camp during different winter weather conditions. Staying in the trees is better because it helps block the wind, even if the bare branches don’t do much to block the snow. Trees also means firewood and the ability to make a sort of  _ lean-to _ that can cover the tent and stop snow from piling on top of it. 

Setting up the tent gives him an idea about creating barriers using fuuinjutsu. Maybe it would be possible to use a solid barrier to protect the tent from rain, snow and wind? It would have to be either chakra or blood activated—maybe both—and then whoever wanted to lower or raise it would have to have their signature registered with the seal….that could get expensive. Complex. Depending on how many shinobi the seal would have to work for. Or it could be indiscriminate, and just need chakra to activate. But then it wouldn’t serve as protection from foreign shinobi.  _ But _ the idea came to him as a way to deal with the weather... 

So maybe the protection from other shinobi could come later. Best not get too ahead of himself.

Genma shows him how to use all the tools he has. 

Then he takes Natsume’s tools away and makes him do it with nothing but his own two hands. Shinobi must be ready for any and every situation, after all. Natsume builds a shelter, spends hours trying to start a fire, sets traps and digs through the snow to find nuts until his fingers feel like blocks of ice. 

He doesn’t yet know any fire release jutsu, doesn’t yet know any jutsu at all, actually. But his chakra is plentiful and bright and  _ corrosive, _ so after a few hours of trying it the traditional way, he sends pure chakra into the flimsy pile of tinder and it alights with a small explosion. Not great, but it does the job for now.

He kills more animals and half burns them over his shoddy fire. Genma said quite clearly that this was a survival expedition and a test. He’s watching—unseen, but Natsume can feel him and the man isn’t trying especially hard to hide. Natsume is on his own, but if he’s in any clear danger then Genma will swoop in. He knows this, but he doesn’t take it for granted. He  _ needs _ to figure this out right, because there’s a very real possibility that not knowing how to survive in the winter will kill him some day in his line of work.

When Genma took his tools, he took everything. Natsume is left with only the thin clothes on his back, and they aren’t even his. They’re tiny shinobi standards, black and shapeless and without a single seal. He’ll freeze to death without a heat source.

He focuses on regulating his temperature.

The shelter was built with fallen branches, leaning against the wide bark of a tree. Everything is wet and cold and all he has is a shelter with too many drafts and a tiny fire that needs constant fuel.

If panic sets in, he’s done for. So he thinks about what  _ exactly _ he can do. He has plenty of chakra and knowledge of seals. No ink and no brush. A substitute would be….

Blood.

Natsume tears the flesh from his fingertips with his teeth and scrawls seals into the shitty hut he’s made with bark and branches. Insulation. Warming. The barrier idea comes to mind. If he can successfully establish four points around his little shelter, he can erect a barrier to keep out anymore snow. Four chunks of bark covered in bloody symbols will have to do. It’s on the fly, however, so he only manages to create a seal to repel snow, because water is easy enough to signify. Wind is harder, because it’s just  _ air, _ and he still needs air to circulate within the sealed space. Right now probably isn’t the best time to mess around with that, so he settles. It’s not so bad, because even with the occasional bout of wind, it’s  _ warm. _

He has a shelter, food and a fire. Water is easy enough to  _ obtain, _ but he has no real way to drink it. There’s no containers, nothing but his hands. Usually you would need to boil it but there’s no pot, and plenty of snow. It won’t be completely pure, but if he can at least whittle a small cup or bowl out of wood then he can let snow melt in it. 

He’s going to be fine.

* * *

“You’re good.” 

Natsume barely looks up, carefully watching his rabbit turn over the fire. “I’m learning.”

Genma grunts, “Would it kill you to take a compliment?”

Natsume survived on his own for four days, and then Genma dropped down and they set up all their  _ actual _ gear. Not that he wasn’t doing perfectly fine on his own—but a tent, warm clothes and  _ blankets _ were suddenly the most amazing items to ever grace the earth. 

They spent three more days going over winter survival and everything he’d done wrong on his own, and Natsume was ready to go  _ home. _

“I’m being honest.” 

“You’re being difficult.” Genma fires back without any heat, leaning against a tree. “Yes, you need improvement. Yes, you can always get better. That doesn’t mean you aren’t currently  _ good.” _

“I don’t want to be just  _ good.”  _ He’s also not in the mood for talking. Every day out here makes him get grumpier and grumpier. Shinobi are meant to endure,  _ sure, _ but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. On top of his worsening mood, he’s also starting to miss Naruto and Shisui.

The older man looks sky high as if praying for another student. “Yeah, I know, kid.”

* * *

The first thing Natsume does when he gets home is take a hot shower. It shakes the last of the chill from his bones and loosens his tensed muscles. He’s seven and  _ tense. _

Naruto is at the Academy, so Natsume takes his time winding down. He cleans the messes around the house and makes a note to scold Naruto about them. After eating rough jerky, burnt squirrel and bitters nuts for a week he’s ready for some  _ actual _ food. The fridge is still stocked, so it looks like Shisui took Naruto grocery shopping during the week. On the first shelf, just at his eye level, is a covered pot with a note on it.

_ Your favorite, for my favorite little redhead!  _ — _ Shicchan _

Natsume feels a smile pull at his mouth, soft in the way he usually isn’t. He almost moves to throw the note away, but then places it on the counter instead. It’s such an innocuous thing, there’s no reason to keep it. But he does. Sentiment, maybe. 

He takes the pot out of the fridge and kicks the door shut with his foot. After some careful maneuvering, he sets the pot on the stove and drags the step-stool over so he can actually see what’s in it.  _ Beef Udon. _

He grins again, wider this time. White baby teeth flash, the only witness a pot of noodle soup. 

When Naruto comes home, it’s to the scent of beef broth. He slams the door behind him in a fit of excitement. “Nacchan! You’re home!”

Natsume can barely blink before his brother is upon him, thin arms wrapped around him with a tight, squeezing grip. He grunts and returns the hug with a more controlled movement, petting at the blond spikes brushing his cheek. “I missed you, Naruto.”

His brother pulls away, keeping his hands on Natsume’s arms. His eyes are wide, unending blue and shifting wetly like the ocean’s surface. The expression on his face is endearing. Honest. Everything that Natsume is not. “I missed you a whole bunch, Nacchan. I had Sasuke and Hinata-chan and Shicchan but it’s not the same, ya know? It’s weird when you’re not here!” Determination quickly replaces the vulnerability. “But don’t worry about me, Nacchan! We’re shinobi! I know you’re doing super-duper important stuffs, and soon I’ll be going on crazy ninja missions and rescuing princesses and it might take days and days or even weeks! Which would really stink, like a lot, ya know? Because they I wouldn’t see you and that’s the worst! But then, ya know, I thought it wouldn’t be so bad to go adventuring or doing super crazy shinobi rescue missions. ‘Cause we’ll always come home. So….you gotta promise.”

Natsume blinks. “Promise what?”

“That you’ll always come home! And I’ll promise that  _ I’ll _ always come home, so that way, neither of us have to be lonely!”

It’s a childish thought. A young thought. An Innocent thought. Shinobi don’t always come home, no matter how long they’ve been a shinobi, no matter how powerful or skilled. Konoha is not a home so much as it is a prison, and he is an attack dog on a tight leash. He doesn’t want to come  _ home. _ He doesn’t care for the village, or the four walls they reside in. He wants to move anyway, when he saves up enough money, to the shinobi district. 

Getting attached to material items or terms like  _ home _ are meaningless. 

But Naruto... _ Naruto _ is a home all on his own. A person for Natsume to come back to, who loves him unconditionally and with no reservations. A person who would tear down the world for him, and for who Natsume would do the same. If Natsume must have a home, then Naruto is it, and he will always endeavor to come back.

“I promise that I will always come back to you,” he murmurs, holding his pinky out to loop with Naruto’s. Maybe it’s a lie. Maybe it’s a promise meant to be broken. Maybe he’ll die alone amidst the trees or on a battlefield in the mud. “Now please take your shoes off, you’re tracking slush through the house.”

Naruto looks down at his wet sandals, azure eyes following the trail of wet footprints. “Oops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [check out my tumblr!](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/)


	13. spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy, been a hot minute! i really missed my boy natsu ;-;

Sometimes when Natsume dreams, he dreams of good things. He dreams of a world where smiling doesn’t feel like a foreign concept, where Naruto’s laughter can be unhindered by stares in the streets, where Shisui is a permanent fixture in their home. Soft dreams. Happy dreams. Ones where two blurry figures wander into frame and Natsume calls them  _ tou-chan  _ and  _ kaa-chan. _ He doesn’t see them clearly and he never sees colors but he  _ knows. _ He knows it’s them and he knows he’s happy.

When Natsume has dreams like that, he wakes with bitterness on his tongue. Like overly brewed tea or licorice. It sits in his mouth no matter how many times he swallows throughout the day and puts him in a bad mood. The dreams are kind only when he’s sleeping, not when he wakes to face the morning light and the harsh blow of reality.

It’s later than usual. 

Naruto is already gone, and that itself is a surprise. It makes Natsume feel like a proud parent, knowing that Naruto has grown and learned how to take care of himself without Natsume watching over his shoulder like a hawk. All the weeks he spends away training…

Naruto has to pick himself up alone.

Even though they’re seven, and neither of them should have to, it’s a break that Natsume feels like a physical weight being lifted from his shoulders. Naruto cleans his messes, knows how to bathe himself, can brush his own teeth without being told twice. He’s learned how to act because it’s routine, it’s all movement that his body has done over and over again and that’s just how he learns. Kinetically. 

Natsume’s just glad he’s basically raised Naruto to act that way from a young age. Otherwise trying to beat a cleaner attitude into him later in life would have been near impossible.

He gets out of bed. His hair is in disarray, spikes and waves and curls, blood red and sticking to his face. The space in the bed beside him has been cold for days, because Naruto no longer sleeps beside him at night like he used to. Maybe he’s growing too fast. Maybe Konoha is turning him into something of a half-baked adult as well, and there’s nothing Natsume can do when he’s only this young—when he’s only this fragile compared to the powerhouses that walk the streets.

The sun hangs in the sky somewhere before noon. He estimates it to be 10am, definitely later than he’s slept in a long time. Something, that  _ something  _ that sits in his head and has no true name, tells him that he likes that. Sleeping in. Funny, as he’s never done it.

He thinks he’s never done it.

There’s no meeting with Genma-sensei today. He’s been instructed to rest his still growing body, but Natsume has too much energy to just sit at home and do nothing. So he might as well sit at home and do something.

After getting it drilled into his head that he needs a rest day at least once a week, he forgoes running through kata in the living room. Instead he slowly eases himself into yoga poses. Stretching isn’t working out. It’s just keeping up with his flexibility...one of the most necessary skills of a shinobi. 

Natsume eats cereal for breakfast, feeling oddly lazy today. Maybe it’s because he slept in, but his limbs feel a bit heavy and his movements are more lethargic than he likes. He sits in the quiet of the kitchen and wonders if he should get a hobby.

* * *

The streets are busy. Shouts and laughs, dust kicked up underfoot. Children running from each other without a care in their hearts, too young yet to work. Teens stumbling over their first jobs. Seasoned sellers calling out their sales and wares. He sticks to the sides and slips in and out. The crowd is like a collection of lightbulbs. Tiny ones, though. Civilians don’t have much chakra. It’s undeveloped, left alone through childhood. It’s true that the younger you start, the better your chances are. Once you hit adulthood, molding and growing chakra pools becomes infinitely more difficult. Impossible, for some.

Civilians feel like buzzing flies compared to a shinobi. 

_ Act like it, too. _

He sneers at a passing woman who recoils like he’s a rabid animal. Maybe he is. Maybe he wants to be. It’s not like he really cares what the civilians think about him. All he has to do is be on his best behavior around shinobi—or the best behavior he  _ can _ exhibit, because while Natsume is training to be a liar, he wears his emotions like a potent perfume. As long as he keeps his ugly, angry, treasonous thoughts to himself, the shinobi of Konoha can just assume he’s a grouchy iron wall.

Today he has nowhere to be and no one to see while Naruto is at school and Shisui is on a mission. He’s wandering for the hell of it, because like it or not he’s grown too accustomed to the outdoors, whether it be for survival or for training. He’d managed about two hours of reading before the itch to move became too great. He’s starting to feel like Naruto, who houses the sun under his skin and burns celestial atoms for energy.

He makes it the park.

The same park with the treeline he used to train by. The same park with the river between those trees, where he’d lost a piece of himself underneath hands and water. It feels like a long time ago. He feels bigger, older. He is, his clothes certainly attest to that, but it’s a different kind of feeling. Aged in the heart rather than the body. Aged in the soul, maybe.

It’s not a park he likes to see. But he knows why he’s here.

Because Naruto feels like the sky, like the scent of a summer breeze, like sun-warmed rocks and the taste of campfire smoke and oranges. He knows Naruto like the back of his hand, better even. He’s also grown to recognize the feel of those who worm themselves close, who choose to sit by a battered, angry redhead and think him nothing but a boy. 

Sasuke feels like a river. Or maybe not. It’s smooth, like polished stones, polished glass, polished ice. Flowering and bright like lightning, hot like boiling water. Undeniable heat, undeniable ash, though far fainter than Natsume senses in Shisui and Itachi.

And he’s sitting alone in a park, hiding under the slide like it’s the best protection a child could ever seek, using it as a shield against everything and anything. He’s crying and trying to pretend he isn’t, even though he believes himself alone and that’s perhaps the saddest thing Natsume has ever seen.

“You should be in school.” Is what he says when he’s close, his shadow draped across Sasuke’s trembling form. He’s never been very good at soft things like comfort. “Someone bully you or something?”

Seems unlikely, with that personality….and with Naruto, who would punch someone first and ask questions later. It’s a habit Natsume isn’t  _ entirely _ sure he wants to correct.

Sasuke flinches, looking up with shock. His face is bright red and swollen from crying, tears hanging off his absurdly long lashes like little diamonds. Pale lips are set in a firm pout as he breathes harshly through his nose and refuses to let out his cries. “N-Natsu…”

Natsume sighs. He’s dealt with Naruto their entire childhood. Yet despite that, he’s not good at dealing with crying kids. Crying in general makes him uncomfortable, like he’s seeing a piece of someone he’s not privy to. Children cry over the smallest things...but Sasuke, Sasuke isn’t really like other children either.

He sits down next to the crying Uchiha, scooting under the slide so they’re both in the shade. “You don’t seem like the type to get bullied.”

“It’s not that.” Sasuke sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve and leaving a trail of snot. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Natsume looks at him for a long moment. “You don’t wanna talk about it, but you’re okay sitting alone in a park. Crying.”

“I’m not crying!”

“The snot on your face says otherwise, brat.”

Sasuke wrinkles his nose, his disgusting, snot-dripping nose. He’s so flushed and messy that Natsume wishes he had a washcloth or something. The only thing available is the river in the trees, but he can’t even bring himself to think of it for too long.

“...It’s stupid.” 

Natsume looks at Sasuke. Sasuke looks back, all wet eyes and frowning mouth.

“You should tell me anyway. Or someone, if you don’t think you can trust me.”

“I trust you!” Sasuke yelps, like it would be ridiculous to think otherwise.

It makes something in Natsume’s gut drop, like he’s freefalling. Words like  _ trust  _ sound so odd to his ears. He hadn’t meant anything serious by it, and now it feels as if he’s just been given a promise that’s too heavy. He ignores that for now and instead scours his brain for what could possibly be bothering Sasuke.

“Is it your brother? Or your dad?”

Sasuke presses his lips together tightly. His face sinks further into the cradle of his arms, a few more diamond tears slipping from his lashes to pave shiny paths down his chubby cheeks.

_ Bingo. _

“Sasuke.”

The boy exhales gustily, looking grumpy. At least he’s stopped the crying, even if his voice still wobbles and his breathing remains uneven. “It’s just that...nii-san has been super busy lately. Like, really  _ really  _ busy. He won’t play with me, won’t train with me...barely even talks or looks at me. Sometimes he’s home but it doesn’t feel like he’s home. And he gets quiet and never wants to spend time with any of us, even at dinner.” The words spill from Sasuke like an infection. “They think I’m stupid, because I’m not smart like Itachi. But I’m not stupid! I can see that something is wrong and...and no one wants to bother with me.”

Itachi’s hands are probably so bloody that he doesn’t know what to do with them. His fingers probably feel more comfortable with a kunai than they do wielding chopsticks. He’s probably forgotten what it feels like to relax in his house when his home is the battlefield.

Natsume sees himself in Itachi. More so after Shisui’s comparison. More so when he’d taken the time to see the way the world fell around Itachi’s figure like fate thought it obvious that it was the boy’s job to pick up the pieces. Natsume sees himself in Itachi because he’s walking the same path. A young prodigy trained to kill and die at the hands of adults, with a brother he’d do anything for. 

How scary. How terrifying.

“You’re not stupid.”  _ You’re a child. _ “You’re still learning and that’s okay. The adults can stuff it. I bet they’re just jealous of Itachi because he’s better than even them, and they just take it out on you. You don’t have to care about them. You shouldn't care about anyone who makes you feel lesser, because they don’t deserve you.”

Like how Konoha didn’t deserve him, didn’t deserve Naruto.  _ Definitely _ not Naruto.

“But my dad—”

“Fuck your dad.” Natsume curses, “Dads can be mean. Dads can be worthless at caring for their own kids. Their actions are their own and you don’t need his approval to be whatever you wanna be.”

Sasuke sniffs again, too dejected and contemplative to point out Natsume’s cursing. “It still hurts though. When he...when he says stuff about me not being like Itachi.”

Natsume sacrifices his sleeve, wiping away the snot and tears. He’s used to it by now, with Naruto. It’s just as gross as usual. “That’s okay. But it’s stupid. Not you, him. The words he says. ‘Cause ya can’t be like Itachi.”

Sasuke lip wobbles.

“Not because you’re lesser or somethin’ stupid. But because your name is Uchiha Sasuke, not Uchiha Itachi, ya know?” The verbal tic slips out without his consent, as it always does when he starts getting worked up. “You can only be like Sasuke.”

Another sniff. Sasuke grumbles against Natsume’s continued wiping of his nasty snot. 

“I dunno how to be just Sasuke.”

“Figure it out.” Natsume grumbles. “It’s no one else’s business but your own, so don’t go looking for help from me. I only offer help when someone needs their ass kicked.”

“You helped me right now.” Sasuke says, childish and soft. “You’re a lot nicer than you act.”

Something uncomfortable squirms in Natsume’s chest. His heart, probably. He kinda feels like throwing up a little, skin hot and nerves buzzing. Kind? Nice?

He pushes Sasuke over, so the boy tumbles onto his side with a cry. 

“Go back to class.”

“Hey!” Sasuke exclaims, but Natsume is already up and walking away.

He presses his fingers to his mouth because his face feels off. There’s a smile there, stretched across his lips, curved under his fingertips.

* * *

Thing is, Natsume thinks he might be addicted to the way a katana feels in his hands. The practice boken is one thing, but the weight of live steel is something else entirely. It’s too big for him, obviously. He’s better suited for a wakizashi at the moment, or a tanto—like what Shisui has. Natsume has seen it more times than he can count, strapped to Shisui’s shoulder like a pale imitation of a bird’s wing. Between them is a promise to train with it, a promise to hold the short blade that’s an extension of Shisui’s limbs. 

“You’re better than I am by now.” Genma sighs, “Just a little too tiny.”

Natsume glares at him, but there isn’t much heat behind it. He’s too enamored with the blade in his hands. A perfectly crafted katana, almost as long as he is tall. The hilt is pretty, if plain, wrapped in ocean blue cloth. He wants it. He wants it desperately, maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything.

“I’ll find a kenjutsu user to train you. If you grow another foot taller, maybe I’ll get you that katana as a present.” The man continues, teasing in his tone. “For now, pick a tanto and a wakizashi. Not that I’m allowing you to use these outside of practice just yet. No field work until you’re tested by a proper kenjutsu user.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Natsume mutters, absorbed in looking over the blades that line the walls of the armory. He very reluctantly puts the katana in his reverent hands back to its rightful place.  _ One day, one day. _ Some childish part of him, a part that hasn’t been snuffed out by Konoha’s eager violence and need to stomp on his happiness, can’t help but think that swords are the  _ coolest weapons ever. _

Genma snorts behind him, and the taste of fondness leaks out of his chakra. Natsume pretends he can’t feel it, because he doesn’t want to touch emotions like that with a ten foot pole. Even if it’s comforting. Even if he relaxes and feels like he can reach for the man and his sensei will reach back. 

_ Trust. _

He considers the words Sasuke said a few days ago. The words he’d let slip from his lips without a second thought. Was the shinobi system built on trust or on betrayal? On the ability to lie, or the ability to seek truth in your comrades? How do you find happiness and friendship in a world that doesn’t give definite answers to those questions—those questions that meant everything to his survival. 

Here’s the thing. 

Maybe Natsume wants to be happy here. Like Sasuke, who feels like the odd one out in his family, who can’t find the care he needs in his own house, who wants to be whatever he has to be to get that happiness. But even if Natsume relates to that, he knows it’s not right. He and Sasuke shouldn’t have to be anything but themselves.

Even if Natsume doesn’t exactly know who  _ Natsume _ is just yet either. His life is just Naruto. Just  _ survival. _ Just  _ what do I need to save money for next. _

His fingers trail over the cool metal of a short wakizashi with a black hilt and handle, the sheath a delicately painted thing that depicts a tsunami, swirling mountains of water and sharp-mawed creatures grasping for a way out of the torrent. 

“This one.” He says, and takes the paired tanto as well.

Genma puts a hand on Natsume’s hair and ruffles his red locks. 

He doesn’t even say anything when Genma pays for the two blades in their entirety, because for once—for once...he wants to feel a little bit like a child. A little bit like he’s the one being taken care of.

“How’s the fuuinjutsu going?”

“Pretty well.” He replies, sealing away the purchased blades. “Working on barrier types right now. Elemental variance is…”

“Frustrating?” 

Natsume hums. “Annoying, mostly. It’s like having a hundred of the same exact sentence with just one word being different each time.”

Genma huffs a laugh past the senbon clacking against his teeth. “Yeah, you said it. But I guess that’s all fuuinjutsu is at the core. Repetition.”

“Life is exactly the same.”

They walk the streets of Konoha, Genma with his hands in his pockets and chakra relaxed, like a slumbering bear. Natsume isn’t sure if he wants to poke it. Isn’t sure if he wants to get closer. He’s seven years old and scared. Yes, that’s the word. The word he hates to even think because he’s not  _ allowed _ to show it. Would Genma leave him behind to complete a mission?

Would he?

Genma. With his pin-straight brown hair—the same brown that half of Konoha sports because half of them have some measure of Senju blood in them, whether it be a ⅓ or only enough to fill a pinky toe—and his plain brown eyes that look like almonds and his chakra that smells the same, which should be terrifying because so does cyanide.

Natsume wonders if he reaches out—if, if. 

If he does. 

Will he be treated with a handful of almond extract or poison?

* * *

The spring is muddy streets and flowers pushing their way out of cracks in the earth. Natsume stares at Itachi, who stares back at him. Their little brothers play in the newly green grass, stains on their shorts and sunshine in their faces. 

Itachi looks like a shadow, like he’s not fully here and not fully there. The lines in his face are impossibly deep, deep like the gouges in the earth that fill and flow with water. Natsume’s pretty sure he’s never seen a kid look as tired as Uchiha Itachi does. Because that’s all Itachi is.  _ A kid. _ He’s not even thirteen yet, not for another three months. 

And yet he carries himself like an old man, as if he’s seen the worst the world has to offer and still somehow made it back alive, whether he wanted to or not. 

He doesn’t think Itachi hates him. He doesn’t think Itachi trusts him.

“I hear you’ve moved on to live steel.” The older boy says in his quiet voice. It’s a babbling brook over round stones. The feel of feathers under your fingers.

Natsume nods. He offers more information than he’d usually give without prying. “Yeah. I’ve started learning under a woman by the name of Yugao Uzuki.”

The Uchiha’s expression doesn’t change. It’s like he hasn’t heard at all, but the information still registers in his head. A doll. Itachi looks like a doll, pretty face and all. Expressionless. Do they have therapists in Konoha? Natsume feels like Itachi really needs one. Badly. Do shinobi even  _ believe _ in mental illness? 

(Why does he even know about it to begin with?)

Natsume looks away from that coal-black gaze. He looks instead at his arms, at the bruises lining them, the wrapped blisters calluses on his hands. There is strength in his battered body. Strength he hadn’t had before, strength he doesn’t want to lose. Itachi comes from a good family, one with plenty of money and time and prestige. He’s similar to Natsume but also not, and Natsume wonders what exactly drives the other boy. 

Strength?

For what?

Sure, he’s pushed because of his skill, but where does he draw the line? When does it become about  _ Itachi’s _ needs?

He’s not sure he’ll ever really know, not when they’re like this with each other. At a standstill. Two predatory animals circling each other, wondering if the other is friend or foe.

“Sasuke calls you his friend now.” Itachi says, derailing the previous topic of conversation. “He didn’t before. He called you  _ Naruto’s brother.” _

A cold day under the slide, snot dripping down a chubby chin and staining sleeves—yeah, Natsume can guess when Sasuke’s feelings had shifted. Now, dark eyes follow him, pudgy pale hands reach almost as frequently as Naruto’s. Whatever affirmation Sasuke is seeking in Natsume, he won’t find. (Or maybe he will.) He supposes they’ll have to wait and see.

He grunts. “That kid’s like a leech. I wouldn’t call us friends.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t.” And Itachi smiles, actually smiles, and it’s barely a wisp but it’s still  _ there, _ still alive on his skin where he’s been dead too long. “But your words and actions don’t always match, do they?”

_ I figured you out, _ is what Natsume hears. He doesn’t like it.

“Call him whatever you want, but you’ll protect him.” The Uchiha murmurs.

Natsume closes his eyes, but all it does is make the sounds of Naruto and Sasuke’s laughter louder, their chakra feel brighter. He decides to look at the sky instead. “He’s a kid.”

“He is,” Itachi says. He doesn’t say  _ so are you, _ he doesn’t say  _ it’s not supposed to be your responsibility. _ “And you really are too kind.”

Natsume’s tongue feels heavy. He feels two seconds from breaking out in a cold sweat. Itachi’s chakra is still calm and soothing, burning like slow-moving magma and heady with spice and the wild scent of bird feathers. He’s disorienting and everything a twelve year old boy shouldn’t be and  _ Great Sage,  _ sometimes it feels as if Natsume is talking to an otherworldly creature instead of a human made of flesh and bone.

A hand claps onto his shoulder, another on Itachi’s. Natsume knows the hand, knows the turbulent warmth, prowling beast and sky full of stars that burn within. Familiar chakra, his favorite chakra — right after Naruto’s.

“Can’t leave you two anywhere,” Shisui says, burdened the way mothers are with unruly children. “Honestly, both of you have the personalities of wet blankets. Or rocks.”

And seventeen isn’t old at all, but sometimes Natsume feels the years between them like physical weights. An urge to be childish rises, an urge to be the little brother. He barely manages to rein it in. It’s been happening a lot lately — that feeling of wanting a little more than he should. He takes inches where he can.

“And you have the personality of a fucking turd, but we don’t talk about that, do we?” He says instead, tucking away those soft, breakable emotions.

“The language that’s coming out of your mouth...was it you, Itachi!?” Shisui bemoans, slinking between them, the missing puzzle piece. He towers over them, a head over Itachi, two heads over Natsume. “Did you taint my little baby?”

Itachi softens like steel under extreme heat. Imperceptibly. “I assure you, he came that way.”

“It’s gotta be Shiranui.”

“I lose brain cells everytime we interact.” Natsume says.

“Ow. Better be careful, you only have so many of those.”

The older Uchiha dodges a well aimed strike to his gut. “Violence! Violence on the playground!”

His dramatics attract the attention of Naruto and Sasuke, who run over with dirty hands and skinned knees they don’t even feel. 

“Shicchan!” Naruto exclaims, projecting himself like a missile at the older teen. Shisui grabs him with ease, muscles barely straining. He twirls Naruto around until they feel sick, laughing boisterously. 

“Naruto! Have you grown taller? Stealing all of Natsume’s height, huh?”

Natsume frowns, unamused, as Naruto breaks out in peals of laughter. “Shut up, shittysui.”

Shisui drops Naruto to the ground, impossibly gentle. Dark eyes, eyes like the night all his stars hold, eyes like endless voids, glance down at them, echoing the grin on his lips. “Hey, I got something.”

He pulls a camera from his shinobi pouch. Blue, square and compact. The disconnect between technology still sits oddly in Natsume’s mind. Shisui presses a button with his thumb, then brings it close to his face. 

_ CLICK. _

He captures the curious faces of Naruto and Sasuke, peering up at him and looking so terribly young from Shisui’s hovering angle. He laughs and doesn’t show them.

“Where did you get that?” Itachi inquires as Shisui holds the camera above Naruto and Sasuke’s reaching hands. 

“Bought it. Thought, why not? Seemed like a good idea.” Shisui snaps another picture. This time the camera is pointed in Itachi’s direction, on the unmoving mouth and stress painted face. Shisui’s smile strains as he looks at whatever shows on the little camera screen. “You’re disgustingly photogenic. What a pity.”

“So is that terrible personality of yours.” Itachi replies.

Natsume snorts, pressing his lips firmly together to stop any laughter. Shisui lets the comment roll off his back like water on a duck. Instead he merely grins and urges them all close.

“Come on, come on, let’s get close! Group photo!” He tugs Natsume close with one arm. Warm and alive and smelling of ash and summer nights. “You guys won’t be this tiny forever. Well, Natsume might be — ow, ow! Okay, maybe you’ll grow an inch if you try really hard!”

Three of them grin, two of them don’t. Itachi’s mouth quirks, but you can’t see happiness in the curve of his lips. It sits in the shadows of his face, in the back of his eyes like a light left on in the dark. Natsume doesn’t smile and he doesn’t frown, but he’s content, and his eyes are blue, so blue, like endless skies and for just a moment — just one, he’s free.

* * *

Shisui walks them home late in the evening, later than they should be out. The moon is high and wide in the sky, white light washing out the colors of the world below. They pass tall buildings, stacked apartments with too many color schemes. The quiet buzz of the nightlife falls away into the background. 

Naruto is asleep in Shisui’s arms, limp like a child’s toy and carried just as easily. His nose rests against Shisui’s collar, soft snores exhaled against a dark shirt. It’s not summer yet, so the world is still a little chilly, especially after the sun falls. Natsume feels none of it.

“In the summer, we should hide away on the Hokage’s Mountain.” Shisui whispers, chest a quiet rumble to soothe Naruto further into sleep. “During Tanabata! We can watch the fireworks from Yondaime-sama’s nose. I’ll buy you and Naruto a pack of sparklers, as long as you keep it a secret. We can buy our own bamboo tree. Right in a little pot — maybe paint some frogs on it, since Naruto seems to like ‘em so much. A tree of our own, to tie all our wishes to.”

Natsume can see it clearly in his head. Pictures of a festival he’s never been to. The scent of spice and candle wax. The feel of paper and ribbon under his hands. The chime of bells and laughter. Maybe it’ll be a clear sky, or maybe clouds will dot the night, echoes of a thunderstorm that’s already passed — or just about to make its home in the Konoha air.

“In the summer.” Shisui promises. “In the summer we’ll act like kids, for a little bit. It’ll be something we can all do together, the five of us. Maybe more, some day. That day. Who knows. We can even make some ugly little ornaments for our poor little bamboo plant.”

“Is that why you want to do it on the Hokage’s Mountain? So no one has to suffer the sight of such a monstrosity?”

Shisui shakes his head, a delicate smile pressed to his mouth, like flowers pressed between the pages of a book. Soft and open. Silk under the moonlight. “Nah, Natsume. So we can bury it up there. A little bamboo tree. A little secret filled with wishes. And it’s just ours.”

Natsume turns away, because suddenly it hurts to look at Shisui too closely. He’s too bright, a star flaring and burning, bright enough to sear his eyelids. “Sounds more like wishful thinking.”

“Everything is these days.” The other boy murmurs, “That’s why I want to stop thinking of wishes. I want to put them outside my head. In my hands. Around the branches of a bamboo tree. I want them to exist here, where they can become something.”

And all Natsume can think is:  _ I wish I had a wish to share with you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://spideyfoof.tumblr.com/) [Discord](https://discord.gg/nej7PA4a2X) [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/23EiumDpr0fMyONj6jABOd?si=LY1ZqJdKRg2hwDc2CrXrtg)


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